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Here they all threw off their burdens with sighs 

OF RELIEF .—Page 38 . 





Peter Had Courage 

A Story for Boys 


By 

CLAUDE M. FUESS 

Author of " All for Andover ** and “ The Andover Way 


Illustrated by 
LLOYD J. DOTTERER 



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BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 

/* 












Copyright, 1927, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. > 


All Rights Reserved 


Peter Had Courage 


* n 
r.<!V 

Printed in U. S. A. 


IRorwooft r e&e 

BERWICK & SMITH CO. 
Norwood, Mass. 

S rp 2077 < 

©Cl 6100424 0 






Affectionately Dedicated to 
My Nephews 







CONTENTS 


I. The First Fear - 
II. The Log Cabin - 
III. An Ordeal by Fire 
IY. Alone in the Woods 
Y. The Fight - 
YI. The Glorious Fourth - 
YII. The Haunted House 
YIII. A Moral Issue - 
IX. Gige Goes Fishing 
X. A Rescue - 
XI. The Pangs of Despised Love 
XII. The Great Race - 
XIII. An Experiment in Chemistry 
XIY. An End and a Beginning 


7 


/ 


- 11 

- 31 

- 47 

- 69 

- 84 

- 110 

- 141 

- 171 

- 203 

- 228 

- 244 

- 269 

- 305 

- 324 



ILLUSTRATIONS 


Here they all threw off their burdens 

with sighs of relief (Page 38) Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

“We have a clue, all right ” . .122 

“ And now let’s shake on it ” . . 202 

Floundering in the trough of the waves, 
the canoe was now nearly full of 
water ...... 234 


9 















Peter Had Courage 


CHAPTER I 

THE FIRST FEAR 


“ Hi, Peter! ” 

Young Peter Wadsworth, his round head just 
closely shaved at Chris Avery’s “ tonsorial par¬ 
lors” in preparation for the approaching warm 
season, was sauntering along the chief thorough¬ 
fare of Deepwater village, carrying under his arm 
the two pounds of butter and the bag of salt 
which he had just bought for his mother at 
Burnet’s grocery. It was a hot, sultry morning in 
late June, and the road was dry and dusty. As he 
heard a familiar voice, he stopped suddenly, and, 
looking around, saw a broad-shouldered, chunky 
youth in corduroy knickerbockers and khaki shirt 
running towards him, waving his arms wildly. 

“ Hello, yourself! ” said Peter in reply, recog¬ 
nizing his friend, Aubrey Terry, who had been 
duly rechristened by his boy companions with the 
name of “ Leaky.” Leaky had a heavy shock of 

11 


12 


PETER PI AD COURAGE 


coarse black pompadour hair, which, with his 
flattened nose and dark complexion, made him 
look like a descendant of Uncas or Sitting Bull. 
He was evidently a little older and stronger than 
Peter, but they exchanged salutations on terms 
of equality. 

“ Say, Peter, what are you going to do to-day? 
Let’s go out to Bailey’s Pond for a. swim. The 
water’s fine! ” 

“ I guess I can do it all right. But I’ve got to 
mow the lawn this morning. I can’t get off till 
after lunch.” 

“ Neither can I. I’ll bring Beady Bennett and 
stop for you and Gige on the way up.” 

Leaky ran back to a rusty dented Ford, in 
which his father was waiting for him, and Peter 
walked slowly on, stopping reflectively now and 
then to gaze about or to greet a friend. To 
casual tourists, it must be confessed that Deep¬ 
water was just one more sleepy Central New York 
village which had seen better days. Motoring 
slowly through the business section, on the route 
which Peter was now taking, they would pass the 
dingy American Hotel, the Star Moving Picture 
Palace, Baldwin’s drug store and soda fountain 
with its fat proprietor always lounging in the 


THE FIRST FEAR 


13 


doorway, Nan Currier’s millinery shop, its win¬ 
dow adorned with depressing-looking hats, the 
brick Deepwater National Bank building, and the 
office of the Deepwater Gazette , and, with a scorn¬ 
ful glance at the ugly Soldiers’ Monument, would 
say to themselves, a What a hick town! ” Although 
some of the broad side avenues, lined with stately 
elms, displayed fine old mansions and well-kept 
lawns, the passing visitor was more likely to be 
attracted by the row of loafers leaning against the 
stone wall in front of the library and commenting 
languidly but critically on the few passers-by. 
The salesman of shoes or vacuum cleaners did 
not need to be warned that this was a poor town 
for business; after one discouraged inspection, he 
took good care not to be stalled here for an even¬ 
ing. The solitary shoe factory of which Deep¬ 
water had boasted had long since breathed its 
last. Now the residents were mainly retired 
farmers from the surrounding countryside, who 
had moved into town to enjoy comfort after years 
of hard manual labor. 

But Peter, as he walked, was not thinking of 
the industrial depression in his native village. 
To him the place was a paradise of delights. He 
loved his own home, with its flower garden and 


14 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


shady orchard, at the western end of the settle¬ 
ment, on Wilmot Avenue. If he walked only 
a few hundred yards up the street and turned 
down a grassy lane, he could reach within five 
minutes a grove of tall cathedral pines. To the 
east was Tassel Hill, the highest point in the 
county, from which on clear mornings he could 
see the smoky city of Schuyler, twenty miles to 
the north. If he chose to ride his bicycle to the 
south, he might even skirt the edge of the gloomy 
Nine-Mile Swamp, or could turn off to the left, 
among the secluded hills, to Gorton Lake, the 
haunt of mighty pickerel and bullheads. Peter 
had little interest in the financial rating of Deep¬ 
water’s merchants. What he cared about was the 
park, where he and his gang played “ shinny ” and 
listened to band concerts on long July evenings, 
or Bailey’s Pond, on the banks of which he used 
to lie in the sun. There were spotted trout in 
the Big Creek, if only you were skilful enough 
to lure them out with rod and line, and there 
were faint trails through Osborne’s woods to mys¬ 
terious places known only to himself and his com¬ 
panions. 

Peter’s father was a physician, usually referred 
to in the village as “ Doc.” As a young alert 


THE FIRST FEAR 


15 


graduate of Amherst College and Harvard Med¬ 
ical School, he had opened an office in Deepwater, 
hoping to acquire some practical experience be¬ 
fore he moved to a larger sphere of usefulness. 
Once there, he, as he expressed it, had never 
found time to move away, and he had remained 
for twenty years, marrying and raising a family: 
Peter, George, and their little sister, Vera, who 
has very little part in this story. Just why he 
had stayed, he would have been puzzled to ex¬ 
plain. Possibly it was the consciousness that he 
was badly needed which led him to abandon his 
dreams of an international reputation as a bacte¬ 
riologist and resign himself to doling out pills 
and powders, half wondering whether his efforts 
to cleanse the community were not futile. He 
had watched most of the active young fellows 
leave to seek more promising opportunities, while 
the indolent and the disabled and the poor 
lingered behind. There had been a period when 
Deepwater had had its famous citizens,—a Con¬ 
gressman, a popular novelist, even a Civil War 
general,—but now most of the residents were rec¬ 
onciled to obscurity. And yet Dr. Sidney Wads¬ 
worth did not complain; indeed he was rather 
proud of the position which he held, for, although 


16 PETER HAD COURAGE 

* 

there were other medical men in Deepwater, it 
was he who was always called in when people 
were critically ill. 

Everybody in Deepwater was acquainted with 
“ Doc ” Wadsworth’s ruddy face, engaging smile, 
and mellow bass voice. His head was almost com¬ 
pletely bald, except for a few stray wisps of red¬ 
dish hair, the remnants of what had been, as he 
could prove by old photographs, a waving shock 
of auburn curls. He had a nervous, impetuous 
manner, and a quick habit of twisting his slender 
fingers, the result of abundant energy. In his 
practice he was untiring, but each August he in¬ 
sisted on taking his wife and children to an Adi¬ 
rondack camp which he had inherited and at 
which he stored up health for the other eleven 
months. Mrs. Wadsworth was a good-humored, 
motherly soul, constitutionally thin,—a living ref¬ 
utation of the doctrine, “ Laugh and grow fat! ” 
for she was chuckling most of the time, but still 
remained just bones and skin. Her happiest hours 
were spent in her home, with her children around 
her. Her husband was still to her an irrepressible 
scapegrace, who tracked mud into the halljvay 
and left his shirts lying on the floor, and who 
needed to be taken care of like a baby. Perhaps 


THE FIRST FEAR 17 

she was the only one who realized how much of 
a child at heart he really was. 

Peter, at the age of ten, was a muscular boy, 
with chubby, freckle-spotted cheeks, large hands 
and feet, a broad, honest mouth, projecting ears, 
and a short turned-up nose, of the brand com¬ 
monly known as “ pug.” His hair was so nearly 
red as to win him the title of “ Brick Top ” in 
some quarters,—although this nickname always 
meant a fight. On his pleasant countenance there 
was usually an expansive grin, and it was easy to 
believe, after a look into his blue eyes, that he 
was incapable of any deceit. Not that he wasn't 
full of mischief! He had a hand in every prank, 
and his teachers soon discovered that his appar¬ 
ently innocent smile concealed a dozen predatory 
projects. As a baby, he had been a victim of a 
painful and serious illness, from which it had 
taken him years to recover, and his mother still 
persisted in thinking him to be frail. In reality, 
however, he had completely outgrown his weak¬ 
ness, and his father, after a searching examina¬ 
tion, pronounced him to be a fine physical speci¬ 
men. 

His younger brother, George,—who had been 
called “ Gige ” ever since he was old enough 


18 PETER HAD COURAGE 

to toddle about,—was decidedly different. He 
was thin and wiry, like his mother, with black 
hair and sallow complexion. He was less com¬ 
municative than Peter and rather more serious. 
Peter seldom remembered an injury more than an 
hour or two; Gige would cherish it and stay sul¬ 
len for days. Gige was brighter at his books and 
held first place in his classes almost without ef¬ 
fort; Peter, although he was never low, had to 
work hard to keep up. Of course the two boys 
quarreled and even occasionally resorted to fisti¬ 
cuffs, but, as they were less than two years apart 
in age, they enjoyed the same amusements and 
stood together against outsiders. 

The world of which they were units was a gen¬ 
uine democracy. Peter and Gige knew every boy 
of their own ages in Deepwater, and made no dis¬ 
tinctions because of color, clothes, or social stand¬ 
ing. The son of the President of the Deepwater 
National Bank wore horn spectacles, talked in a 
high squeaky voice, and was commonly called 
“ Sissy ” Goodwin. Peter despised him. On the 
other hand, the heir of the negro janitor of the 
High School, “ Rastus ” Jackson, played the 
banjo gloriously and was one of Gige’s regular 
playmates. It was a society in which each mem- 


THE FIRST FEAR 


19 


ber was measured by what he could do,—not by 
how much money he had or what his parents 
were. 

By the time he was ten, Peter Wadsworth was 
already accustomed to bruises and minor injuries. 
During the preceding winter he had fallen off a 
“ double-runner,” sliding down the Mill Street 
Hill, and had sprained his ankle badly. A few 
weeks later he had slipped from a precarious perch 
on top of an icy hydrant and had cut a great gash 
in his forehead, reaching home with his face cov¬ 
ered with blood. To such accidents, however, he 
paid little attention, for he looked upon them as 
an inevitable part of life’s daily routine. He 
didn’t need outing classes and summer camps, 
with highly paid counsellors, to instruct him how 
to take care of himself in emergencies; indeed he 
and his coterie would have resented any insinua¬ 
tion that they could not be trusted even in the 
wilds of the Canadian Northwest, in the “ great 
open spaces, where men are men.” As for fear, 
he as yet hardly knew what it was. He had never 
been whipped by his parents, and they had tried 
to bring him up completely unafraid. The gob¬ 
lins and bogey men which fill the minds of so 
many children had no terrors for him. 


20 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


It was this kind of a healthy boy that sat on 
the front steps of the Wadsworth house, later on 
that same day, waiting for Leaky Terry to come 
along. Both Peter and Gige, having outgrown 
nursery control, were allowed to make excursions 
into the surrounding country. So it was that 
Mrs. Wadsworth raised no objection when they 
announced at luncheon that the lawn was all 
mowed and that they were going out to Bailey’s 
Pond. 

“All right, boys,” she replied. “ But remember 
that you haven’t learned to swim, and keep out 
of the deep places.” 

“We will, Mother. But I’m going to be a regu¬ 
lar Johnny Weismuller before this summer’s over. 
I’ll bet I could swim now if I had to.” 

“ Well, don’t try any experiments until you’re 
sure,” she cautioned. “It’s better to be alive 
than at the bottom of the pond.” 

It was not long before Leaky appeared, accom¬ 
panied by Beady Bennett, a delicate-looking boy, 
with a high forehead, horn spectacles, a long 
scrawny neck, and spindle legs, who was an au¬ 
thority on Indian customs and woods life. The 
four of them started off, hatless and coatless, on 
a slow dog-trot which brought them in just a few 


THE FIRST FEAR 


21 


minutes to Bailey’s Pond, a small sheet of water, 
about a hundred yards long and thirty wide, 
with a dam at one end, near which it must have 
been about six feet deep. There were trees on all 
sides, and it was so secluded as to make an ideal 
“ swimming hole.” In later days, when he had 
seen Lake Como and Lake Louise and beautiful 
Dublin Lake at the foot of Mount Monadnock in 
New Hampshire, Peter could never forget 
Bailey’s Pond. It was there that the love of wa¬ 
ter entered his soul, and he could never after¬ 
wards see the shimmering surface of a lake 
through the pines without being stirred pro¬ 
foundly. Once he spent a long summer in the 
White Mountains, at Sugar Hill, where he could 
look across a wide valley to stately Mount 
Lafayette; but he cared little for the view, simply 
because there was no water, running or still, 
within his range of vision. As a middle-aged 
man, he could feel his heart beat faster as he 
stepped out of his cabin on Daicey’s Pond, in 
Maine, with Mount Katahdin looming in front 
of him, and saw the water before him, cool and 
sparkling in the crimson dawn. 

Bailey’s Pond, when he revisited it years later, 
proved to be an insignificant half-stagnant pool, 


22 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


filled with eel-grass and not very clean,—cer¬ 
tainly not a sanitary place for a bath. But in 
Peter's boyhood it seemed like a noble expanse 
of water, the depths of which were filled with 
mystery. You could drop a worm-baited hook 
at the dam outlet and pull up bullheads one after 
another, with occasionally a small speckled trout. 
You could put together a raft of small logs and 
pole yourself to the narrow inlet among the wav¬ 
ing cat-tails at the far end, where turtles used to 
lie sunning themselves on the flat stones, and 
where you could catch frogs with a bent pin 
fancifully decorated with red flannel. Or you 
could stretch yourself on the sand and let your¬ 
self get gloriously baked and tanned. When 
Peter read Tennyson’s Lotus Eaters in college, he 
was carried back to the long July afternoons 
which he had spent on the shores of Bailey’s 
Pond. 

With the pond in sight, Peter began pulling off 
his shirt, and, when he reached the dam, he tore 
off his clothes with almost a single motion, taking 
care to leave them piled in a spot where he could 
watch them lest some malicious enemy soak the 
sleeves and tie them into knots. 

“ Come on, fellows,” he shouted, as he dashed 


THE FIRST FEAR 


23 


along the trail to a projecting point of land near 
which the water was shallow. Although Peter 
and Gige could not swim, they were fearless and 
always ready to take a dare. Leaky and Beady, 
both good swimmers, plunged from the diving- 
board, at least four feet above the surface of the 
pond; and meanwhile Peter had found a broad, 
thick plank and was lying flat upon it, paddling 
himself with his hands like a side-wheel steamer. 
For a while he was content to float about among 
the little coves and among the lily-pads, where 
he could have stepped up to his knees in rich 
oozy mud. Then the noise and excitement at 
the other end proved irresistible, and, although 
he was not usually so venturesome, he made his 
way slowly into a section of the pond not far from 
the dam, where the water was well over his head. 
Gige meanwhile had returned to the shore to lie 
in the sun, and Peter lay drifting about, his hands 
flapping idly, watching with envy and admira¬ 
tion the older boys as they turned graceful somer¬ 
saults from the spring-board. Suddenly a figure 
rose from the water in front of him and grasped 
the forward end of the plank for support. It 
was Fatty Morris, a fourteen-year-old boy who 
weighed almost two hundred pounds, and who 


24 PETER HAD COURAGE 

was trying to rest on the object nearest within 
his reach. Of course the board dipped, and 
Peter, surprised by the shock, lost his balance and 
rolled off into the deepest part of the pond. He 
promptly sank, but came up quickly and reached 
for the plank, but it was just beyond his finger 
ends. Then fear struck at his heart! He strug¬ 
gled violently and gasped painfully for air. But 
in spite of all that he could do, he felt himself 
sinking, sinking! Once more, with a tremendous 
effort, he fought his way to the top and shouted 
in a gurgling voice for help. Then things passed 
beyond his recollection! 

Meanwhile everybody had been confused. 
Fatty Morris himself had noticed Peter’s plight, 
but had stupidly struck out for shore. It was 
Gige who, standing on the bank, was the first to 
give an excited yell, “ Look at Peter! He’s 
drowning! He can’t swim! ” At once the atten¬ 
tion of some of the older boys was attracted. 
One of them, clumsy “ Ikey ” Warren, shouted 
wildly, “ Grab him by the hair! Grab him by the 
hair! ”—a somewhat ridiculous bit of advice 
when it is recalled that Peter had just had his 
hair so thoroughly shorn that he was as bare on 
top as an escaped convict. But at least one on- 


THE FIRST FEAR 


25 


looker kept his presence of mind. Leaky Terry, 
who had been talking with two or three others 
on the bank, turned to see what was going on, 
and, seeing the situation, jumped in almost be¬ 
fore his companions realized what had happened. 
In two or three strokes he had reached Peter and 
had caught him under the armpits, holding him 
up from behind while he managed to tread water. 
Fortunately for his rescuer, Peter had now lost 
consciousness and could not grapple with Leaky 
as drowning people often do. In a few seconds 
other assistants were near, and eager hands were 
extended to the two boys. When they were 
drawn to shore, Peter dropped, apparently life¬ 
less, on the gravel. 

Here was an ideal occasion for the display of 
the methods of resuscitation learned in Red Cross 
First Aid classes at school. There were numer¬ 
ous volunteers: some of them worked Peter’s arms 
frantically up and down ; others tried to turn him 
over and smack him lustily between the shoul¬ 
ders; a few insisted that his stomach should be 
kneaded. But before he was battered into pulp 
by the pounding which he was receiving, he 
opened his eyes, struggled with his rescuers, and 
said, with the little breath which he could muster, 


26 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


“ Say, leave me alone, will you? Quit punching 
me! ” He then slowly sat up and looked around 
while the spectators watched him curiously to see 
what he would do or say. 

“ What’s the matter with you brutes? ” he 
asked, bewildered for a moment by the crowd of 
which he was the center. “Oh, I remember! I 
fell off that plank into the water. I guess I’d 
have drowned if somebody hadn’t hauled me out.” 

“ That was Leaky,” said the round-eyed Gige, 
overjoyed at Peter’s recovery and eager to be 
heard. “ He’s the one that dived in and pulled 
you to shore.” 

“ Much obliged, Leaky,” responded Peter, get¬ 
ting up a little unsteadily and holding out a hand 
to the embarrassed hero. 

“ It wasn’t anything,” muttered Leaky, as he 
seized Peter’s fingers gingerly. 

“ It was my fault, anyhow,” interposed Fatty 
Morris. “ I tipped the plank over.” 

“ I’ll tell you one thing, Peter,” added Leaky. 
“ You ought to learn to swim before you go out 
over your head.” 

“ I’m going to,” replied Peter resolutely. 
“ Just watch me! ” 

It was characteristic of Peter that, even after 


THE FIRST FEAR 


27 


his disturbing adventure, he did not go back 
home,—in fact that idea never even occurred to 
him. Instead he lay for a while watching Ikey 
Warren, Charlie Webster, Fatty Morris, and some 
of the bigger boys who were amusing themselves 
by tossing the smaller fellows into the water and 
then plunging in after them. They would not 
have touched Peter, of course, but, after he had 
rested and regained his courage, he said to Ikey, 
“ Why don’t you take me? I want to try that, 
too.” 

“ I guess you’ve swallowed enough of Bailey’s 
Pond for one day, young fellow,” replied Ikey, 
looking him over. 

“No, I haven’t. I want to learn to swim. 
Give me a toss, won’t you, Ikey? ” 

“All right! You’ve got the right stuff in you,” 
said Ikey. Then he and Charlie Webster seized 
the youngster, one by the ankles and the other by 
the wrists, and swung him back and forth between 
them. “One! Two! Three!” they counted, 
and at the “ Three! ” out sailed Peter in a curve 
over the water, striking on his back with a re¬ 
sounding splash. Two or three excellent swim¬ 
mers had meanwhile placed themselves close by, 
ready to assist him when he came to the surface. 


28 PETER HAD COURAGE 

As his head emerged, they reached out helping 
arms. “ Let me alone,” he gasped. “ Let me 
alone! I can swim. Lll do it myself.” Sure 
enough, he started off, paddling “ dog fashion,” 
making progress very slowly and working too 
hard, as inexperienced swimmers do, but never¬ 
theless keeping up and actually moving forward 
a little with every downward shove of his arms. 
By a mighty effort of wind and muscle he reached 
the bank, about ten feet off, puffing like a por¬ 
poise. “ Hooray! ” he cried, as he drew himself 
up by an overhanging willow. “ I can swim! ” 
He had conquered the element which had nearly 
submerged him. 

At dinner that evening Peter simply announced 
that he had learned to swim, omitting all the pre¬ 
liminary details of his afternoon adventures. 
Later in the week, however, the story was told at 
the Dalton Club, the town’s association of male 
gossips, where Dr. Wadsworth happened to over¬ 
hear it. When he had a convenient opportunity, 
he said to Peter, “ Why didn’t you tell me that 
Aubrey Terry saved your life? ” 

“ I don’t know,” stammered Peter, looking a 
little surprised and ashamed. “ I was afraid 
Mother might be worried.” 


THE FIRST FEAR 29 

“ Weren’t you frightened, dear? ” asked Mrs. 
Wadsworth, with a quaver in her voice. 

“ I sure was,” confessed the boy. “ Pretty 
nearly scared to death.” 

“ But he went right in again,” piped up Gige, 
who had no intention of having his brother’s 
courage minimized. 

“ Why did you do that, son? ” inquired Dr. 
Wadsworth. 

“ Well, Dad, I just hated to think that I could 
be scared by a little water. I don’t believe I was 
ever really frightened before. I had shivers run 
up and down my back every time I thought of 
going back into that pond. But I knew that, if 
I didn’t, I’d be a coward all my life. And so I 
did! And, Dad, I can swim a side-stroke now, 
and dive and float and tread water and every¬ 
thing! ” 

Before the summer closed, Peter was doing 
crude backward dives from the end of the spring¬ 
board and floating lazily on top of the water as 
if he had been amphibious. His process of in¬ 
struction may not have been orthodox, but it was 
effective, and he soon lost all his earlier fear. 
With this inspiration, even Gige mastered the 
simpler strokes and dared to plunge in with the 


30 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


others. Within a year, Peter could jump into the 
lake with an old suit of clothes on and then un¬ 
dress himself piece by piece, putting each article 
of raiment in a canoe as he removed it, until he 
was stark naked. Often at Lake Woodhull, 
where Dr. Wadsworth’s camp was located, Peter 
would slip into the water before breakfast and 
swim out to Snake Island, a third of a mile off, 
and back again, just to get up an appetite for 
bacon and griddle-cakes. Dangerous? Perhaps! 
But Peter did not need to be told that people 
who avoid danger, and shrink from it, never know 
how to confront it when it appears. 



CHAPTER II 


THE LOG CABIN 

Not long after his eleventh birthday, which 
came in January, Peter, as a result of some read¬ 
ing, decided to organize a secret society to be 
called “ The Followers of Deerfoot,” named after 
that magnificent Indian chieftain who, it was 
said, could run all day without becoming weary 
and could kill a squirrel with a rifle at a distance 
of a hundred yards. Gige, after pleading vigor¬ 
ously, was allowed to join. The other members 
were Harold Webster,—better known as “ Hal,” 
—Charlie’s younger brother, a slender, light¬ 
haired boy, with a fascinating smile and an au¬ 
dacity far beyond his physical strength; Bill Em¬ 
mons, a tall athletic lad, a little older than the 
others, who had come from New York City to 
spend a year with relatives in Deepwater and 
was, in many respects, the most sophisticated of 
the “ gang ”; little Jack Goodhue, the son of the 
richest man in town, and a lad of unquenchable 

curiosity, always prying into out-of-the-way 

31 


32 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


places; and Beady Bennett, who was indispen¬ 
sable because of his wide knowledge. After some 
violent disputes, Peter had been elected Grand 
Sachem and had insisted, with Beady’s support, 
that the members should sign their names in red 
ink to a solemn oath of secrecy, couched in re¬ 
sounding polysyllables. 

As spring drew near, it was recognized as es¬ 
sential that the Followers of Deerfoot should pos¬ 
sess a lodge of their own, something more private 
than the loft of the Wadsworth garage, where the 
organization had been perfected. Just beyond 
Bailey’s Pond was a stretch of forest belonging to 
Senator Webster, the father of Charlie and Hal, 
and bordering on his extensive estate. The old 
statesman had once been an important figure in 
New York State politics,—indeed had just barely 
failed to become Governor,—but he had now re¬ 
tired to meditate in his old age on the dramatic 
incidents of his past life. He was a dignified, 
kind-hearted old gentleman, whose presence in 
Deepwater still lent that village a certain prestige, 
and the Gazette always mentioned his name in 
an unctuous manner as if to say, “ Look what 
our town can produce! ” It was on a corner of 
his domain, then, that the Followers of Deerfoot, 


THE LOG CABIN 


33 


after securing his consent, proposed to erect their 
permanent home. After much argument, they 
found a spot where a spreading pine rose more 
than a hundred feet into the air. At the very top 
Peter and his friends built a platform, hauling 
the necessary boards up by means of a long rope. 
The tip of the pine was carefully peeled and 
turned into a flagpole, the pennon on top of 
which could be seen clearly from the upper win¬ 
dows of the Webster mansion, a third of a mile 
off. 

At the base of the lofty tree the boys under¬ 
took to construct a log cabin with their own 
hands. At shoveling sidewalks or beating car¬ 
pets Peter and Gige were dilatory laborers, but 
they were tireless at the task of felling poplars. 
For hours they would toil at some thick log, until 
their hands were blistered and their backs were 
lame, working it into the desired shape and 
length. Then each had to be notched in accord¬ 
ance with the instructions in The Boy Craftsman 
and fitted into its right position. 

It was no easy job to wield an axe or a hatchet 
all the afternoon on humid July days, but before 
school opened in the fall, the Followers of Deer- 
foot had a presentable habitation about ten feet 


34 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


by six in size, with a flat roof made of boards cov¬ 
ered with tar-paper,—the last article having been 
contributed by Jack Goodhue, the club magnate. 
The interstices,—the boys called them cracks,— 
between the logs were stuffed with moss, in what 
was declared by Beady Bennett to be the true 
frontier fashion. There was no window in the 
original design, and, when the members tried to 
light a fire in the ancient stove which they had 
rescued from a dumping-ground, they merely suc¬ 
ceeded in almost strangling themselves with 
smoke. It was the thoughtful Beady who 
pointed out the advantages of a stovepipe. So 
a hole was cut in the roof, and, when Bill Em¬ 
mons donated a section of stovepipe found in 
his uncle’s cellar, the equipment was complete. 

On wet days the gang would meet inside and 
talk over plans for the future or play checkers 
or sharpen their knives and hatchets. Sometimes 
the scholarly Beady would lie by the entrance 
reading some tale of outdoor life, for the members 
had collected a small library which filled a shelf 
on the wall. But the others were more active, 
and there was always something to do,—wood to 
chop, a leak in the roof to be mended, a lock and 
staple to be put on the door to keep out intruders, 


THE LOG CABIN 35 

or a new trail to be cleared. When all else failed 
or the Followers of Deerfoot were tired with the 
day’s work, they could sit around and enjoy the 
sweet bliss of their untrammeled freedom. 

It was a notable occasion when Mrs. Wads¬ 
worth, after repeated importunities, consented to 
allow her sons to sleep out in the cabin for a 
night. They had all been at Lake Woodhull for 
the month of August, and the parents had no¬ 
ticed with satisfaction the ability of the boys to 
handle themselves on camping expeditions. 
When they returned to Deepwater, she had con¬ 
fidence that they could be trusted; and her in¬ 
fluence in such matters was decisive with the 
mothers of the other Followers of Deerfoot. Thus 
it was that, early on a Saturday morning in Sep¬ 
tember, the gang assembled at the Wadsworth 
residence,—the two Wadsworths, Beady Bennett, 
Bill Emmons, and Jack Goodhue. Hal Webster 
planned to meet them at the rendezvous. 

Each lad had a good-sized knapsack fitting over 
his shoulders, with a rolled-up blanket on top. 
The careful mothers had made certain that the 
food supply was adequate, and Mrs. Wadsworth' 
had added a tin pail packed with hard-boiled 
eggs (in case the fire did not prove successful), 


36 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


some cold chicken and tongue, and countless 
sandwiches, in addition to the bacon and oatmeal 
and cocoa which the campers planned to cook. 

“ Oh, Mother, we don’t need all this stuff,” 
protested Gige. “ It’s awfully heavy, and be¬ 
sides we’ll never eat it.” 

“ You may be glad to have that pail of food 
later on,” responded the practical physician’s 
wife. “ I never heard that there was any custom 
requiring campers to starve themselves when they 
didn’t need to.” 

Hanging to the belt of each Wadsworth was 
a long shiny knife in a leather sheath, a gift on 
the preceding Christmas. Dr. Wadsworth had 
also made sure that each was provided with a 
water-proof match-box, a flash-light, and a pocket 
compass, besides a slab of milk-chocolate for use 
in emergencies only. As they trudged off up the 
street, each boy felt like a Daniel Boone or Kit 
Carson about to penetrate into the wilderness, 
and they all stood up very erect under their packs 
as old Lawyer Weller passed them with a “ Hello, 
there, young pioneers! ” Peter was aware be¬ 
fore he had gone a hundred yards that his pack 
was heavy, containing, as it did, some kitchen 
utensils which his mother had placed in his 


THE LOG CABIN 


37 


charge, such as a frying-pan, a kettle, and some 
forks and spoons. But nothing could have made 
him admit that it was too much of a burden for 
him, and he plodded along until Beady Bennett, 
his forehead dripping with perspiration, sug¬ 
gested at the gate to Slaughter Lane (so called 
because it led eventually to the village slaughter¬ 
house) that they had better rest for a moment. 
Not until then did Peter stop, lean up against the 
fence, let his knapsack drop on the top rail, and 
wipe his glistening brow with the large red hand¬ 
kerchief which he wore around his neck, in imita¬ 
tion of the cowboys about whom he had read. 

“ I’m glad that we don’t have to walk fifteen 
miles! ” ejaculated Beady, who had thrown him¬ 
self on the ground, pack and all, and was lying on 
his back, puffing vigorously. 

“ What’s the matter, you poor feeble thing? ” 
asked Jack Goodhue, who, as the smallest of the 
party, had been assigned nothing extra to carry. 
He was a talkative little fellow, whom the others 
considered rather “ fresh.” “ This is nothing! 

I’ll bet that Dan’l Boone could go thirty miles 

% 

a day without a rest, carrying all that you’ve got 
and a heavy rifle besides.” 

“ Yes, but he was a full-grown man,” answered 


38 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


Beady, who was not to be disputed by a mere 
child like Jack. “ Besides he didn’t have to go to 
school the way we do most of the year. All he 
did was to live outdoors and hunt and fish and 
kill Indians. No wonder he was strong! ” 

“ Well, if we stay here much longer gassing 
we’ll never reach the cabin,” interjected Peter, 
as he hitched his pack on his shoulders, climbed 
over the bars of the wooden gate, and stepped off 
down the grassy lane. The others followed his 
example with obvious reluctance, little Jack be¬ 
ing the last. Not much farther along, Peter 
turned to the left into a woodland path, which 
wound in and out through the trees and then 
across the narrow creek which flowed into Bailey’s 
Pond. In a few moments they came to a cleared 
area, and the cabin,—their home,—stood before 
them. Here they all threw off their burdens with 
sighs of relief, and proceeded to make a prelim¬ 
inary inspection of their property. 

“ Here’s the gun all right,” announced Peter, 
drawing out an air-rifle from a hiding-place under 
one of the outer logs of the cabin. 

“And I’ve got the flag,” added Beady. 

“ Why, where’s the stovepipe? ” inquired 
Jack. 


THE LOG CABIN 


39 


They all stopped to look towards the roof, from 
which ordinarily at least a foot of rusty stove¬ 
pipe was protruding. 

“ I'll bet that Ikey Warren has hidden it,” said 
Beady. “ He swore last week that he’d get even 
with us in some way for tying up his shirt when 
he was in swimming.” 

“ Well, it’s gone, anyhow,” declared Bill Em¬ 
mons, who had been inspecting the interior. 
“ Somebody has broken our padlock and carried 
off the stovepipe. And some of the books are 
scattered all over the floor. What a dirty trick! ” 

“ How are we going to do any cooking? ” in¬ 
quired Jack Goodhue, ready with a question as 
usual. 

“ That’s easy enough,” answered Peter. “ We 
can get along with an outdoor fire exactly as 
well,—maybe better. It’s a lot more like what 
real campers would do, anyhow.” As the Grand 
Sachem of the Followers of Deerfoot, he felt 
the necessity of asserting himself as the most 
intrepid and independent of the gang. It was 
one way of maintaining his prestige, and he felt 
the responsibility of leadership. 

“Anyhow, I guess I’ll run up the flag and let 
Hal know we’re here,” said Beady, as he started 


40 PETER HAD COURAGE 

up the tall pine, clambering from branch to 
branch like Tarzan of the Apes until he had ar¬ 
rived at a lofty perch far above their heads. The 
others meanwhile occupied themselves in search¬ 
ing for the lost stovepipe and in putting their 
treasures in order. Each one had his own wooden 
bow and blunted arrows, a wooden tomahawk, and 
a rope lasso, thus combining the standard equip¬ 
ment of the cowboy and the redskin. Peter 
loaded the magazine of the repeating air-rifle 
with shot and aimed experimentally at a near-by 
birch. While they were thus engaged, they heard 
a faint yodel in the distance, with a peculiar 
tricky quaver. Each one sent back an answer, 
Beady from his watch-tower and the others from 
their station on the ground. Gradually the call 
came nearer and then, down a path from behind 
a clump of grey poplars, came a tall figure bound¬ 
ing along as if his soles had springs in them and 
whooping in a shrill voice. 

“Hi, Hal!” shouted Peter in greeting. 
“ How’s the boy? ” 

“ Great! ” replied the newcomer, now revealed 
as the missing Hal Webster, with his curly yellow 
hair, narrow shoulders, and long arms. “ How’s 
Sitting Bull, the murderous chieftain of the 


THE LOG CABIN 41 

Sioux? ” Never having been corrected in his pro¬ 
nunciation, he called it “ Sooks.” 

“ Fine and dandy! But I guess that brother of 
yours and Ikey Warren have pinched our stove¬ 
pipe.” 

“ So that’s what they were up to! ” commented 
Hal. “ Charlie told me at breakfast that we’d suf¬ 
fer for tying up his clothes, and maybe this is 
what he and Ikey have done to get even.” 

“ Well, if he and his crowd come around here 
to-day, I’m going to turn the air-gun on them,” 
threatened Peter. 

“ They’ll be around, all right,” said Hal. “I 
heard Ikey talking it all over with Charlie yester¬ 
day. And Leaky Terry and Fatty Morris will be 
with them. Leaky has always been sore because 
we didn’t ask him to join us.” 

“ Oh, don’t let’s worry about that now,” cried 
Beady, who had descended from the platform and 
craved excitement. “ Let’s go swimming. I’ll be 
first man at the dam.” Off he dashed, the others 
at his heels, down the winding path to Bailey’s 
Pond. The advantage which he had gained was 
decisive, and he was at the spring-board, with his 
shirt half off, before even the long-legged Hal 
could catch up with him. There, in the cool wa- 


42 PETER HAD COURAGE 

ter, the Followers of Deerfoot idled through the 
morning until the pangs of hunger began to dis¬ 
turb them, and, drawing on their trousers and 
shirts, they strolled slowly back to the cabin, 
somewhat less spirited than they had been two 
hours before. The time had now arrived for the 
experiment in cooking. Beady and Jack Good- 
hue collected some rocks and constructed an out¬ 
door fireplace,—not without some excitement 
when Jack uncovered a nest of small garter-snakes 
under a stone and promptly took to flight. 

“ Come back here, you baby! ” shouted Beady. 
“ They’re just as harmless as turtles or frogs.” 

“ I won’t go near them! ” exclaimed Jack. “ I 
hate snakes. They’re all poisonous. I sha’n’t 
come back while they’re there.” 

And he refused to help further until Beady, 
who loved natural history and all living insects 
and reptiles, piled the little snakes into a basket 
and dumped them out in a spot many yards away 
from the cabin. Then Jack came cautiously back, 
and the fireplace rapidly took shape. Hal and 
Bill Emmons, meanwhile, had gathered some dry 
birch bark and chipped some pieces from a rotting 
log. Soon there was a roaring fire, and Peter, 
who had often watched his mother at work in 


THE LOG CABIN 


48 


the kitchen, prepared to cook eggs and bacon. 
He filled a frying-pan with bacon, sliced thin, 
and, after the blaze had died down, managed to 
get near the improvised oven. The sizzling meat 
gave out a pungent odor which interested all the 
spectators, and they were only mildly alarmed 
when Peter, in breaking eggs into the pan, man¬ 
aged to empty the fluid contents of two of them 
on the ground. Eventually the remaining eggs 
were properly opened, and Peter, judging from 
appearances that the cooking was finished, took 
hold of the handle to remove the frying-pan. 
The others were standing ready with their tin 
plates, like the members of an army mess. But 
Peter had forgotten that the pan was hot. Just 
as he was lifting it up, the heat struck his hand. 
With a howl of pain, he dropped the frying-pan, 
bacon, eggs, and all, right on top of the glowing 
embers. The meal was irretrievably ruined, and 
a groan of despair, mingled with imprecations, 
arose from the hungry Followers of Dearfoot. 

“ Oh, you jackass! ” wailed Hal. 

“ You colossal idiot! ” added Bill. 

“ Peter, you’re a clumsy galoot!” continued 
Gige, exercising the right of criticism to which 
any younger brother is entitled. 


44 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ Oh, dry up, will you? ” responded Peter, still 
sucking at his scorched fingers. “ I’d like to see 
any one of you handle a hot thing like that. I 
pretty nearly burned my hand to the bone. 
You’re a fine bunch of kickers,—letting me do 
all the work and then complaining! ” 

“ Well, you know it is rather a fix,” said Bill. 
“ What are we going to eat? There aren’t any 
more eggs, and I could devour a raw fish, fins, 
bones, and all.” 

“ I wonder what Mother put in that pail? ” said 
Gige, thoughtfully. 

“I’d forgotten all about that! Let’s look!” 
said Peter, rushing to take it from the pile and 
remove the cover. He had scorned it when his 
mother had placed it in his hands, but now he 
opened eagerly a number of packages neatly done 
up in oiled paper. 

“ Look here, fellows,” cried Beady, who was 
watching the process. “ Here’s a whole lot of 
hard-boiled eggs! ” 

“ Chicken sandwiches, too! ” put in Jack. 

“Say, this is wonderful!” added Hal, after 
stretching out his hand for a sandwich and taking 
a huge crescent-shaped bite. “ Your mother is a 
corker! ” 


THE LOG CABIN 


45 


From that heavy and bulky pack of his, Peter 
now produced some bottles of ginger ale and root 
beer. No one asked for tumblers. Each tribes¬ 
man pulled off the tin cap by the aid of a con¬ 
venient stump and then proceeded to imbibe the 
contents in the most primitive of styles, with 
mouth gaping wide and bottle turned upside 
down. The drink was warm, but nobody minded 
that. It was liquid, at any rate, and it tasted 
good, especially when it washed down chicken 
sandwiches. 

“ Believe me or not, I’m full up,” groaned Gige 
blissfully, as he struggled with his fifth egg. 

“ We’d better hang on to what’s left of the 
sandwiches,” suggested Bill. “ We may need 
them for supper and even for breakfast if Peter 
keeps on upsetting the frying-pan.” 

Peter directed a withering glance towards his 
critic, but could think of nothing to say which 
would be sufficiently scathing. Instead he lay 
down on the packed pine-needles and gave him¬ 
self up to the delightful meditation which accom¬ 
panies a full stomach. The others also were dis¬ 
inclined to energetic effort, and for half an hour 
the woods were quiet except for the occasional 
cry of a blue jay or the voices of the Followers 


46 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


of Deerfoot as they chatted idly about their after¬ 
noon plans. Then the peace was broken by loud 
shouts coming from a point not very far off. 

“ There’s Ikey Warren and his gang,” said 
Peter, suddenly sitting up. “ I knew that they’d 
be here before long. We’d better get away or they 
will try to beat us up. Where can we go? ” 


CHAPTER III 


AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 

If there must be a villain in this story, it will 
have to be Ikey Warren, the chief persecutor of 
the Followers of Deerfoot. Ikey, who was at this 
time about thirteen,—just enough older than 
Peter to feel himself very much superior,—was a 
rather sluggish, ungainly lad, slightly bow-legged, 
of undeveloped mentality, who found his most ex¬ 
hilarating pleasure in tormenting boys smaller 
than himself. The son of the janitor of the 
town hall, he wore ragged clothes, and, after May 
first, he went barefoot all summer long. He was 
awkward, but very strong, and no one of the Fol¬ 
lowers of Deerfoot had dared to meet him in a 
square fight. Being naturally a bully, he spent 
most of his spare time in devising trouble for 
Peter and his gang. Somehow Peter seemed to 
be constantly coming into contact with Ikey, and 

he usually bore some black and blue spots which 

47 


48 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


were the result of an encounter. It is unnecessary 
to add that Peter hated the very sight of this 
formidable enemy. 

On this particular afternoon, Ikey, who had 
some qualities of leadership, had persuaded 
Charlie Webster, Leaky Terry, Fatty Morris, and 
Sliver Fox,—all fellows of his own age and size,— 
to join him in making an attack on the Followers 
of Deerfoot, and it was Ikey and his friends whom 
Peter had heard coming down the path from the 
Webster home. 

“ We’re going to catch it now,” cried Jack 
Goodhue, panic-stricken. On one previous occa¬ 
sion he had been captured and ducked in the pond 
until he thought his breath would never come 
back. 

“ I can hear Charlie’s voice,” said Hal, as the 
noise increased. “ The whole bunch must be com¬ 
ing. Let’s duck inside the cabin where we’ll be 
safe.” 

Like a flock of frightened sheep, the boys 
rushed for the cabin door and dove inside just as 
Ikey and his gang came into view. 

“ There they are, the little critters! ” shouted 
Ikey in his deep bass voice. “ Come on, my brave 
men, we’ll get them now! ” 


AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 


49 


He and the others dashed up, only to stop ab¬ 
ruptly as they saw Peter kneeling behind the 
threshold with a wooden hatchet in his hand, 
looking ready to smite any assailant. 

“ Come along, you big bullies! ” he said with¬ 
out flinching. “ I’ll knock the first fellow over 
the head. You needn’t think you’re going to 
spoil our fun to-day.” 

Peter was so well armed and occupied such a 
strategic position that Ikey called his band to¬ 
gether for consultation, the five of them standing 
in close conclave, like Satan and his fallen angels, 
always with a watchful eye on the door. Finally, 
after much whispering and shaking of heads, they 
withdrew, as if unwilling to continue the attack 
against such odds. Observing them as they dis¬ 
appeared to the rear of the cabin, Peter spoke to 
his comrades, “ Keep absolutely still, fellows! 
They’ve got some scheme in their minds, but I 
can’t tell exactly what it is. Can’t you make a 
peep-hole in the back, Hal, and see what’s going 
on?” 

For a short period, while Hal tried to poke his 
way with his knife through the densely-packed 
moss, the prisoners made no sound except for an 
occasional hoarse remark from the two smaller 


50 


PETER HAD COURAGE 

lads, Gige and Jack. Then Beady, whose senses 
were extraordinarily acute, said, “ Don’t you 
smell smoke? ” 

Hal sniffed for a second or two, and then re¬ 
plied, “ Yes, there’s something burning.” 

“ It’s probably just our fire outside,” said Bill 
Emmons. 

“ No,” answered Peter, looking through the 
door. “ That blaze was out long ago. It comes 
from somewhere else.” 

“ There it is! ” said Jack Goodhue, pointing to 
a corner of the cabin. “ Those bullies have set 
fire to the house. Can’t you see the little puffs 
of smoke coming in through that hole? They’ve 
lighted the moss in the cracks, and we’ll have to 
get out! ” 

The others, gazing in the direction of Jack’s 
finger, could see that he was telling the truth. 

“ What can we do? ” wailed Gige, who was 
easily terrified. “ If we run out now, they’ll cap¬ 
ture us, and if we stay here, we’re going to be 
roasted alive! ” 

“ Maybe the stuff won’t burn,” suggested Bill 
Emmons, the one consistent optimist of the party. 
“ It’s damp, anyhow, and the logs are all green.” 
But even he could not help recognizing that their 


51 


AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 

quarters were filling with thick smoke and were 
slowly becoming decidedly uncomfortable if not 
unendurable. 

“ I guess we’ll have to make a dash for it,” con¬ 
cluded Peter, after a careful survey of the situa¬ 
tion. At that very moment he saw the five glee¬ 
ful conspirators outside directly in front of the 
door, carrying ropes with which they evidently 
intended to bind their victims. 

“ Come out, you shrimps! ” shouted Charlie 
Webster, delighted at the discomfiture of the Fol¬ 
lowers of Deerfoot. “Come out, or you’ll be 
roasted to a crisp! ” 

A decision had to be reached very soon, for 
the small cabin was becoming altogether too hot 
and smoky for comfort. There was the additional 
danger that the tar-paper on the roof might ignite 
at any moment. Peter consequently resolved that 
the time had arrived for a desperate rush to 
safety. Without abandoning his post or indicat¬ 
ing that anything unusual was about to happen, 
he issued a few whispered instructions to his loyal 
adherents. Then, without any warning, the six 
boys leaped rapidly out, headed by Peter. As 
they appeared, a whole fusillade of weapons was 
hurled in their direction, and Beady Bennett fell 


52 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


as if struck down by a bullet. Seeing him drop, 
his companions halted, and the older gang, won¬ 
dering what had occurred, ceased their attack. 
Beady sat up, the blood pouring from a cut over 
his eye, and Ikey Warren, alarmed at this cas¬ 
ualty, stood over and said roughly, “ What's the 
matter, you cry-baby? What are you howling 
that way for? ” 

“ I’m not howling! Leave me alone! Fm all 
right! ” sobbed Beady, the tears mingling with 
the blood on his face. But Peter, stepping to his 
side, saw that his friend had received a long, rag¬ 
ged-looking gash. 

“ Get some water, will you? ” he said in an au¬ 
thoritative voice to Jack Goodhue. “ Hurry, we 
need it right away! ” Then he took out a clean 
handkerchief, which he carried in an inner pocket, 
and, wiping oh the blood, saw that the cut, 
ugly though it was, was fairly straight with no 
rough edges. 

“ You’re a sweet gang of thugs,” he said con¬ 
temptuously to Ikey, who was standing, silent 
and nervous, not knowing exactly how to behave. 
“ Look here,” he added, picking up a triangular 
piece of glass from the ground. “ One of you 
brutes threw that. Why, you’re a regular bunch 


AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 


53 


of assassins! Why didn’t you bring along a stick 
of dynamite and do the job up in the right way? ” 

“ Gosh, Peter, I didn’t know there was any 
glass in the mud I threw,—honest, I didn’t! I 
didn’t mean to hurt the kid. I’m sorry! ” 

“ Being sorry won’t do much good now,” com¬ 
mented Peter. Just then Jack returned with a 
kettle of water from Bailey’s Pond, and Peter, who 
inherited some of his father’s deftness with his 
fingers, bathed the wound carefully. Meanwhile 
Ikey and his band, seizing a convenient oppor¬ 
tunity, sneaked quietly away as if rather ashamed 
of their part in the affair. Upon examination, 
Peter could see that the wound was more bloody 
than dangerous. He had with him in his knap¬ 
sack a small first-aid kit, in which he found some 
antiseptic and a roll of gauze bandage. Soon 
Beady, who had suffered very little pain at any 
stage of the proceedings, was walking around like 
a slightly damaged battle hero, the outward evi¬ 
dences of his disaster making him pleasingly con¬ 
spicuous. 

While this surgical work was going on, Hal 
and the others had been extinguishing the smoul¬ 
dering moss and repairing the ruin caused by the 
conflagration,—which fortunately had not been 


54 PETER HAD COURAGE 

blazing long enough to do much real harm. This 
business of rehabilitation having been concluded, 
the six boys held a conclave to consider plans of 
revenge. 

“ I wish that we could get even with that Ikey 
Warren,” began Hal, expressing a thought which 
was in the minds of all. “ He’s the one who 
is responsible. The others just followed him.” 

“ If we could only separate him from the oth¬ 
ers,” continued Peter thoughtfully, “ we could 
make him suffer, and the rest of his gang couldn’t 
help him out.” 

This remark was the prelude to others, and be¬ 
fore long a plot had been prepared which was at 
once put into operation. The six Followers of 
Deerfoot, with Beady in the rear, bandage and 
all, moved stealthily down the trail to Bailey’s 
Pond, where their enemies had gone for a swim. 
There was a large Saturday afternoon crowd at 
the dam, but, looking from their hiding-place 
behind a clump of bushes, Peter and his friends 
could see Ikey walking about like a monarch. 
Then, leaving the others in ambush, little Jack 
Goodhue, with his face as innocent as a baby 
doll’s, stepped out and walked casually up to 
Ikey. No one paid any attention to Jack, and he 


AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 


55 


was completely unobserved as he said, “ Ikey, 
could you come up and see Beady a minute? ” 

“ What’s the matter ? ” asked Ikey, his eyes 
turning towards the little fellow. 

“ I don’t know, but he’d just like to talk with 
you.” 

“All right, I’ll come right along.” 

And so Ikey, disturbed at this message and 
fearing that something serious might have hap¬ 
pened, followed Jack down the path. He was 
entirely naked, and the stones cut his bare feet 
so badly that, after he had walked fifty yards, he 
said to Jack: “Guess I’ll go back and get my 
shoes. I’ll be lame if I don’t.” 

He turned towards the pond, and just then a 
familiar voice said, “ Oh, no, you don’t! ” and five 
sturdy little figures leaped upon him simul¬ 
taneously from a thick covert near the path. Ikey 
instinctively screamed for help, but his cries were 
smothered by two very dirty hands held over his 
mouth. By sheer weight of numbers he was 
dragged to the ground and held down in spite of 
his violent struggles. 

“ Gr-r-r-r! ” he gurgled, helplessly endeavor¬ 
ing to break away or at least to let his companions 
know of his predicament. 


56 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ Gag his mouth, Hal/' said Beady, handing 
him a wad of old cloth, which was stuffed relent¬ 
lessly down the victim’s throat. It smelled of 
kerosene, and was very unpleasant to the taste. 
Then little Gige, with a feeling very like rapture, 
tied Ikey’s feet together with a piece of rope, and 
lashed his wrists tightly behind his back. When 
this job was done, Ikey was trussed most effec¬ 
tively and could only writhe in despair and glare 
with baleful eyes at his captors. 

“ Now let’s carry him farther away where no¬ 
body will bother us,” ordered Peter, and they all 
bent down to lift the helpless body. With no 
small difficulty and much labor, they transported 
the thoroughly alarmed Ikey back into the forest 
to a clump of tall birch-trees, where, standing 
him upright, they proceeded to bind him with 
stout cords to one of the larger trunks so that he 
could barely move a muscle. There he was, 
without a stitch of clothing, tied fast to a tree, 
with the flies and mosquitoes already commenc¬ 
ing to buzz around him. 

“ Let the torture begin! ” shouted the exultant 
Beady, smiling grimly at his foe. Then, with a 
piece of burnt wood which he had picked up 
from the fire, he smeared the outraged Ikey’s 


AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 


57 


face with charcoal, imprinting also strange sym¬ 
bols on his bare chest and arms. “ How do you 
like that, you glass-thrower? ” he asked, while 
the tears gathered in Ikey’s eyes at the ignominy 
which he was enduring. 

“ Let’s hurl the tomahawk at the dog,” said 
Gige, recalling an incident in an Indian story. 
And before the others could restrain him, the 
thoughtless youngster had taken aim with his 
wooden weapon and thrown it, barely missing 
the captive’s ear. 

“ Stop that, kid,” bellowed Peter, rushing to 
his brother’s side and seizing his arm in no 
gentle grasp. “ I don’t want to have Ikey killed. 
Let’s reserve him for some terrible ordeal by 
fire. How would it do to burn him at the 
stake? ” 

“ Hooray! ” chirped Jack Goodhue, ecstatically. 
“ Let’s get some dry kindling together.” And at 
once he and Bill Emmons ran off to tear the 
bark from some of the fallen birches in the im¬ 
mediate vicinity. 

The others meanwhile, with a suspicious silence 
and solemnity, gathered a pile of dry wood and 
spread it at Ikey’s feet. 

“ Now,” announced Peter, “ we’ll leave him for 


58 PETER HAD COURAGE 

five minutes to repent of his sins before we 
apply the torch.” 

With sober expressions on their faces, the tor¬ 
turers marched off to convenient vantage points, 
from which they could watch Ikey’s conduct 
without being detected. Believing that they 
had really moved out of sight, Ikey commenced 
the struggle to release himself. According to 
established tradition he should have been able 
to gnaw his deerskin thongs with his powerful 
teeth and thus bite his way to freedom; but the 
ropes, unfortunately for melodrama, were hard 
and tough, and he could not bend his head 
enough even to touch them with his tongue, if 
that organ of speech had been movable. As it 
was, the gag effectually blocked all plans of that 
sort. Finally, after the concealed Followers of 
Deerfoot had satisfied their desire for revenge, 
they returned and stood around their victim. 

“ The fatal hour has now struck,” declared 
Peter, gazing ominously at Ikey and speaking in 
tones as nearly sepulchral as he could make them 
sound. “ But before we ignite the wood, Fm go¬ 
ing to give the prisoner one last chance. Ikey, 
if you will agree to return our stovepipe at once, 
wink your left eye.” 


AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 59 

Ikey’s left eyelid began to move violently and 
enthusiastically up and down. 

“ Will you promise not to yell if we take your 
gag out? ” 

Once more the winking went on with energy. 
Peter had evolved this scheme from the reading 
of a battered copy of Dumas’s The Count oj 
Monte Christo, especially the scene in which the 
aged M. Noirtier, paralyzed and immovable of 
body, expresses his wishes in a similar way. 

“ All right! Take out the gag, Gige.” 

When this impediment to speech had been re¬ 
moved, Peter took a stand in front of Ikey and 
spoke slowly, “ Ikey, we’ve endured a great deal 
of abuse from you and your gang of desperadoes. 
Are you prepared here and now to promise faith¬ 
fully that you will leave us and our cabin alone 
in the future? ” 

“ Yes, I promise,” answered Ikey, so worn out 
and frightened that he could hardly articulate. 
“ I promise with all my heart. Please let me 
go! ” 

“ Well, we’ll spare you this time,” said Peter, 
“ but remember, if you break that oath, the Lord 
will strike you dead,—and the Followers of Deer- 
foot will pursue you as if you were carrion.” 


60 PETER HAD COURAGE 

Peter had no idea what “ carrion ” was, but it 
sounded like a good word. 

The ropes were untied one by one, and Ikey, 
unable for a few seconds even to stand alone, 
sank down helplessly on the ground. The Follow¬ 
ers of Deer foot looked a little aghast, but Ikey 
quickly recovered himself and got up. “ You’d 
better go down to the brook and get washed off 
before you see the others,” said Peter. “ Here’s 
some soap. Then they’ll never have to hear what 
happened to you.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Ikey humbly, in the 
manner of one whose spirit has been chastened. 
And he walked off slowly towards the pond, his 
head bowed down and his posture indicating deep 
dejection. 

“ What do you think he’ll do? ” asked little 
Jack Goodhue, a bit apprehensively. 

“ Oh, he’ll keep mum, all right,” answered Hal, 
who knew Ikey’s temperament. “ He won’t want 
anybody to hear what has happened to him, and 
I’ll bet that he never utters a word.” 

Hal was right. Ikey cleaned himself up at the 
brook, and then, after resting for a few minutes, 
returned quite nonchalantly to his friends and 
crawled into his clothes before they could notice 


61 


AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 

the welts on his wrists and ankles. Nobody from 
that day to this has heard him allude to his ad¬ 
ventures that day in the woods; but he never 
again personally molested the Followers of Deer- 
foot, and, when his comrades suggested an at¬ 
tack, he did his best to dissuade them. Fur¬ 
thermore, the lost stovepipe was back in place 
before another Saturday had passed by. 

The jubilant Followers of Deerfoot spent the 
rest of the afternoon reclining beneath the 
branches of the great pine and discussing, as boys 
will, the excitement of the day. When the sup¬ 
per hour drew near, Peter was more careful of 
the frying-pan and managed to cook several slices 
of bacon without a mishap; and slices of bread 
from the loaf which Mrs. Wadsworth had 
thoughtfully added to Peter’s load were toasted 
over the embers on long sticks. There was some 
dirt in the provender, it is true, but nobody com¬ 
plained. When this course was over, those who 
were still hungry filled up on sandwiches and 
bananas. The dishes were washed at the inlet to 
Bailey’s Pond, and then Peter and Hal, disre¬ 
garding the advice which they had so often re¬ 
ceived not to bathe on a full stomach, had a long 
swim under the light of the stars. When they 


62 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


made their way back to the cabin, there was an 
autumn chill in the air, and all five were glad 
enough to warm themselves around the crackling 
fire. 

“ Going to sleep inside or out? ” inquired Hal 
of Peter. 

“ Oh, I’m just going to roll up here on the 
ground,” answered that daring woodsman quite 
casually, as if that had been his practice for many 
years in the wilderness. “ I don’t want to go 
inside on a glorious night like this.” 

“ But there are balsam boughs in there,” said 
Gige. “ I cut a pile last week, and they’re just 
as soft as any mattress. Besides, there are some 
pillows there, too.” 

“ What do I care! ” said the sturdy Peter dis¬ 
dainfully. “The open air for me every time! 
I’ll just dig out a little hole for my shoulder and 
another for my hip, and I’ll be perfectly com¬ 
fortable.” 

“Don’t you believe it! ” was Hal’s comment. 
“ I tried that once, and it isn’t all that it’s 
cracked up to be! ” 

“ Well, go inside if you want to,” replied the 
obstinate chieftain. “ I know what I am going 
to do.” And when his followers a few moments 


AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 


63 


later crept one by one into the cabin and sank 
down to slumber on the aromatic evergreens, he 
remained behind, quite conscious of his own dar¬ 
ing. First selecting a level place on the leeward 
side of the fire, as he had been instructed to do 
by Indian stories which he had read, he found a 
tablespoon and gouged out some earth at the 
spots where his hip and his shoulder would pre¬ 
sumably strike, and then, rolling himself up in 
his big brown army blanket, prepared to drop off 
to sleep. Then he remembered that he had 
forgotten a pillow and had to get up and fumble 
around in the darkness for his heavy woolen 
sweater, which he folded into a compact mass and 
adjusted under his head. 

Inside the cabin the low murmur of voices 
gradually died down and after a few minutes 
ceased altogether. Apparently all the tired Fol¬ 
lowers of Deerfoot had been lulled to pleasant 
dreams by the fragrant odor of the soft balsam 
boughs. Meanwhile their gallant leader lay gaz¬ 
ing meditatively at the fire as it flickered lower 
and lower, until all the flames had been super¬ 
seded by a bright glow. There was hardly a 
sound except the deep bass of some grandfather 
bullfrog from the marsh at the upper end of 


64 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


Bailey’s Pond. For a time Peter was perfectly 
quiet, thrilled by the romance and mystery of 
the night. Then his shoulder began to ache, and 
he tried to obtain relief by turning on his other 
side. In this new position the holes for his hip 
and shoulder did not seem to fit properly, and 
the ground, which he had not noticed at first, felt 
hard, like a section of paved road. The shadows 
about him seemed to deepen, and he could hear 
from their depths little noises as if animals were 
creeping closer. An owl,—he thought it was an 
owl,—hooted in a tree not far away; a dog 
howled in the distance; and once he was sure that 
he could see in the darkness the fiery eyes of 
some wild beast, shining like the eyes of the old 
she-goat which Robinson Crusoe discovered in 
the cave. Peter was no coward, but he shivered 
a little as he looked and listened, and he lay with 
body tense and every nerve tingling. 

His arms and legs did not seem to be at all 
comfortable, and, to get relaxation, he sat up for 
a moment, stretched himself, and lay down on 
his back, gazing directly up through the trees 
where the stars should have been,—but they had 
disappeared, and a wind was rising, evidently the 
forerunner of a storm. Now his improvised pil- 


AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 65 

low began to cause trouble. Buttons in unex¬ 
pected places pressed into his neck and ear, and 
the rough wool so irritated his skin that he com¬ 
menced to itch in several places. Then new and 
peculiar sounds disturbed his rest. Once a limb 
fell from a tree with a crash, and Peter could 
hear the underbrush crackling as a heavy body 
forced its path through. As a climax there came 
the low rumble of thunder, much more ominous 
at night than it had ever been in the shelter of 
his home during the day. Little flashes of light¬ 
ning illuminated the sky leaving the darkness 
denser than before. He could feel the sudden 
calm, the oppressive silence, which invariably 
presage a tremendous storm. 

Peter had not bargained for this disturbance. 
What did hunters and trappers do, he wondered, 
when they slept in the open and saw rain ap¬ 
proaching? Here he was, right under the tallest 
pine for rods around,—a tree which the lightning 
was sure to strike! What should he do? There 
was one faltering second of indecision and hesi¬ 
tancy. Then he stood up, hunted for a piece of 
dry bark to fling on the dying fire, and, by its 
sudden flaring, crept to the door of the cabin and 
groped his way inside, stumbling over the inert 


66 PETER HAD COURAGE 

and slumberous bodies of his friends. Even in 
those crowded quarters he was able to find space 
for himself, and he immediately felt more coura¬ 
geous. Psychology must explain why it is that 
anybody,—man or boy,—is less apprehensive 
with his comrades around him than he is when 
he is alone. At any rate, it is a fact that Peter 
had now left fear behind him and could await 
the coming of the storm with curiosity rather 
than alarm. 

The lightning was now sharper and more fre¬ 
quent, and the thunder growled more menac¬ 
ingly. One brilliant flash illuminated the whole 
interior of the cabin, followed by a roar as if 
the heavens were collapsing. Then came rain,— 
at first big isolated drops, hitting with a thud 
upon the roof, and then a gradually increasing 
downpour in a musical rhythm over Peter’s 
head. Excited by the storm, Peter sat up, and 
felt instinctively that the others in the cabin were 
also aware of what was going on. For a moment, 
he listened apprehensively. 

“ Hi, Hal, are you awake? ” he heard Beady 
ask in a gruff whisper. 

“ Sure I am,” responded Hal in a tone equally 
low. “ But where’s Peter? He’ll be drowned out 


AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 67 

there. Guess I’ll go out and hunt the poor fish 
up!” 

“ Much obliged, old top,” interposed Peter, 
“but the fish will be all right, thank you! I 
came in when the rain began. I wasn’t going to 
let myself get soaked with a shelter near at hand.” 

“ Do you think the lightning will strike us? ” 
queried little Jack Goodhue, thus proving him¬ 
self to be awake. 

“ Of course not. The chances are a million to 
one against it,” answered Peter, who now re¬ 
gained the leadership which he considered to be 
justly his. “ Storms like this aren’t really dan¬ 
gerous. You can tell by the time between the 
flash and the peal of thunder that the lightning 
is a good distance off. I’d have stayed out in 
the rain if I’d brought my rubber poncho. A 
little wet doesn’t hurt anybody.” His bravery 
returned just as soon as he observed that the 
others were a little alarmed. 

The rain was now beating down with force on 
the cabin and blowing in at the open door. It 
was quite obvious that the roof was leaking here 
and there. Beady had taken out his flash-light 
and illuminated the quarters where the boys sat 
huddled together, determined not to permit their 


68 PETER HAD COURAGE 

fright to reveal itself. Only Peter lay down, and, 
with carefully assumed indifference, pretended to 
go to sleep. Slowly the thunder receded into the 
remote distance, and the rain fell with less force. 
One by one the boys, tired with their midnight 
vigil, fell back on the balsam boughs. Soon 
everything was still around the cabin. The Fol¬ 
lowers of Deer foot had passed safely through an¬ 
other ordeal. 


CHAPTER IV 


ALONE IN THE WOODS 

It was Peter who first raised his head on the 
following morning, rubbed his eyes in faint recol¬ 
lection of the preceding night’s storm, and then 
crawled to the door to investigate the weather. 
It was chilly, but, seeing the sunlight glistening 
on the dripping leaves, he roused his cohorts with 
a shout, “ All up for a swim! Come along, you 
sleepy heads! Everybody out! ” Ruthlessly he 
proceeded to drag the lethargic Followers of 
Deerfoot out into the open, where they stood 
blinking, still half-asleep, Beady looking gro¬ 
tesque with his bandage drooping down over his 
nose. Peter’s enthusiasm was infectious, and 
soon, in spite of their shivering bodies, they were 
dashing down the path to the pond. “ First duck 
under! ” cried Peter, as he took a flying dive from 
the spring-board into the muddied water; and 
he felt a great surprise as he plunged beneath the 
chilly surface. 

“ Me next! ” roared Hal, as his bony figure 

69 


70 PETER HAD COURAGE 

leapt in Peter’s wake. Even Beady, tearing off 
his bandage, jumped with a mighty splash, and 
they were all. soon floundering around like 
aquatic creatures, climbing on one another’s 
backs and ducking each other furiously. 

“ This is the life!” exulted Peter, as he 
reached the bank and proceeded to dry himself 
by the simple process of slapping and rubbing 
himself fiercely in the morning sun. 

“ You betcha! ” added Beady, who had already 
forgotten his wound. The pains of youth are 
seldom lasting, and the ghastly cut of yesterday 
was healing rapidly in the open air. 

It took some time to build a fire and prepare 
breakfast, for the wood was wet after the shower, 
and even the birch-bark did not ignite readily. 
Eventually, however, the six hungry boys man¬ 
aged to fill their empty stomachs with cereal and 
condensed milk, bacon, and some of Mrs. Wads¬ 
worth’s sandwiches, the supply of which seemed 
inexhaustible. Then came the problem of how 
best to employ the day; Gige, Bill, and Beady 
decided to go with Hal to the Webster farm and 
amuse themselves with the Shetland pony, 
Prince, that, in spite of his twenty years, could 
still furnish no small amount of excitement. 


ALONE IN THE WOODS 71 

Off they went, about nine o’clock, leaving Jack 
Goodhue behind with Peter. When they arrived 
at the stable, they led the pony out into the yard 
and practised riding him bareback at a stiff pace 
round and round the fenced-in enclosure. Now 
and then one of the lads would fall off the pony’s 
slippery back, but the turf was soft and nobody 
was hurt. Occasionally Prince would lift his 
heels in a threatening manner, but he was too 
much of a gentleman to kick any of the young¬ 
sters. When the stable man, Mike Blossom, was 
off doing his morning chores, the Followers of 
Deerfoot produced their rope lassos and prac¬ 
tised on Prince as he came cantering about the 
ring; and, when one of them was lucky enough 
to catch him around the legs so that he was 
tripped up and thrown, the animal completely 
lost his temper. Recovering himself, he charged 
at the youngsters and there might have been 
trouble but for the return of Mike, who stepped 
up and calmed the angry pony. 

“ Get out of here, ye young divils! ” said Mike, 
whose patience was decidedly ruffled. “ Ye ought 
to be ashamed of yourself, tormentin’ a poor 
hilpless baste! Move on, now, before I chuck 
yez out! ” 


72 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ Oh, Mike, have a heart! ” said Hal, trying 
cajolery. “ We didn’t mean to hurt Prince.” 

“ Oh, no, ye didn’t!” answered Mike with 
elaborate irony. “Ye were just tryin’ to make 
life pleasanter fer him, wasn’t yer? No, sir, ye’ll 
git out of here,—now! ” And he made a motion 
with the horse-whip which he was carrying in his 
hand. 

Seeing no prospect of further amusement here, 
the boys went into the huge Webster barn, almost 
as big as a circus tent, with its great cross-beams. 
At this time in the autumn it was nearly full of 
hay, and the adventurers, headed by Hal, crawled 
out gingerly on a beam not over a foot square 
and then, balancing themselves carefully, jumped 
down to the hay below, sometimes from a height 
of fifteen feet. It was exhilarating, but Gige 
always climbed out with prickles in his hair and 
an irresistible desire to sneeze. When this pas¬ 
time was exhausted, the four went out to shoot 
at a target with Hal’s twenty-two rifle, which he 
was not permitted to carry away from the house, 
—not since poor Mrs. Webster had discovered 
that Hal and “ Mucker” Wright had fought a 
duel with air-guns, with the result that her son 
had come home with a “ B-B ” shot neatly im- 


ALONE IN THE WOODS 73 

bedded in the flesh at the back of his hand* 
There had been no serious consequences from this 
wound, except that Hal’s mother had to go to 
bed for a week from nervous exhaustion; but 
Senator Webster had spoken a few words to Hal 
in a tone which the lad could not have helped 
understanding. Target-shooting, however, was 
now allowed, and the four boys had an exciting 
competition, ended only by the discovery that it 
was twelve o’clock and time for the noon meal. 
They raced back to the cabin at top speed; and 
there, sitting on a log in the clearing, was little 
Jack Goodhue, alone and in tears. Peter, he 
lamented between sobs, had gone away and had 
not come back. “ He’s lost, I guess,” was all he 
could stammer at first, but soon the full story 
came out. 

The Grand Sachem, meanwhile, was having his 
fill of sport. Jack Goodhue had begged for weeks 
to be taken fishing, and Peter, although the sea¬ 
son was nearly over, had at last agreed to ac¬ 
company him down the little brook that flows 
out of Bailey’s Pond. Both boys owned steel 
rods which had been presented to them on the 
previous Christmas Day,—bait-rods, strong and 
well adapted to the primitive kind of angling 


74 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


which Deepwater streams afforded. Peter had 
brought with him an ancient tomato-can stuffed 
with worms,—long wriggly night-walkers, almost 
as big as small snakes, which he had dug up in 
rich earth so near the Wadsworth asparagus bed 
that the doctor would have been horrified if he 
had seen Peter at work in that vicinity. 

When they reached the dam, from one corner 
of which the water was pouring out of a sluice¬ 
way into a brook that ran merrily off down the 
valley, they fitted their rods together, and Peter, 
instructing Jack as to the proper method of 
stringing a worm on a hook, was delighted when 
his pupil, who had dropped his bait rather 
clumsily into a mass of bubbles below the dam, 
actually jerked up a small trout,—the first that 
the little fellow had ever caught. With this en¬ 
couragement, Jack was ready for any adventure. 
Even Peter had never gone much more than a 
hundred yards down the creek-bed, but he had 
supreme confidence in his own skill as a woods¬ 
man, and Jack trusted him completely. So, after 
Peter had given the necessary instructions and 
explained to Jack how to know the most likely 
pools, they started into the forest, Peter on the 
right bank and Jack on the left, casting their 


ALONE IN THE WOODS 75 


hooks now and then into promising ripples. For 
a while they kept together, but Jack caught his 
line in some bushes and had to get it disen¬ 
tangled ; meanwhile Peter, who was having excel¬ 
lent luck, went along quite rapidly, hardly think¬ 
ing of anything except the next moss-covered log 
or foam-marked eddy. When the creel which he 
was carrying seemed to be filling up, he stopped 
for a moment to glance at his wrist-watch. He 
had been gone nearly two hours! Aware that it 
was time to turn back, he looked around for Jack, 
whom he had entirely forgotten. The little fel¬ 
low was nowhere in sight! Disconcerted, he gave 
a shout, and then emitted the shrill whistle which 
had been adopted by the Followers of Deerfoot 
as their official signal. There was no answering 
call! More vigorously he blew, with his fingers 
between his teeth, in the penetrating fashion 
which had aroused the admiration of his fellow 
members and the censure of his mother. Still 
there was nothing to be heard in reply,—and he 
was sure that his whistle could be heard a mile 
off. 

Peter had sense enough to pause for a mo¬ 
ment’s reflection. He must have come, he esti¬ 
mated, at least two miles down-stream, into a 


76 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


part of the country with which he was un¬ 
familiar; but it would, of course, be a simple 
matter for him to retrace his steps until he 
reached the dam and the pond. What really em¬ 
barrassed him was the fact that he had no clear 
idea as to whether Jack was above or below him, 
and Peter felt himself responsible for the safety 
of his younger companion. Recollecting that he 
had walked along between the pools at a fairly 
rapid pace, Peter concluded that Jack must be 
above him, and accordingly started up-stream, 
hurrying as fast as possible in order to catch him. 
When he had progressed perhaps a quarter of a 
mile, he came unexpectedly to a junction of two 
smaller brooks of almost exactly the same width 
and volume. They led in different directions, 
like the arms of the letter “ Y,” and Peter could 
not remember the place at all. He must have 
been so much absorbed in fishing that he had 
passed it without its making any impression upon 
his mind. 

What should he do? For a second or two he 
could feel his heart thumping hard against his 
ribs, and there was a kind of panic in his soul. 
Consider that he was only eleven years old,—not 
an experienced guide or trapper,—and that this 


ALONE IN THE WOODS 77 


was a new experience for him! Fortunately, 
however, he was intelligent, and he had been 
trained not to be frightened easily. Reason came 
to the rescue. He could not recall having crossed 
any stream since his departure from the dam; 
therefore, he argued, he must follow the branch 
to his left. And so, with confidence regained, he 
went ahead once more, watching constantly for 
some landmark which would justify his decision. 

For ten minutes by his watch Peter trudged 
along, whistling from time to time to attract 
Jack’s attention and hoping at any moment to 
hear an answer. Then he heard in the distance 
the noise of falling water, and, moving rapidly 
ahead, saw before him a small cataract at least 
six feet high,—so unusual and so impressive that 
Peter was sure that he could not have passed it 
on the way down without noticing it. Now at 
last he was really discouraged, for there could 
be no doubt that he had taken the wrong path. 
He paused to inspect his equipment. What were 
his resources? He had nothing with him of any 
importance,—no matches, no compass, no knife, 
no food,—nothing except about twenty small 
trout. And Peter, hungry though he was, had 
no appetite for raw fish. His father had re- 


78 PETER HAD COURAGE 

peatedly warned him never to enter the woods 
without being prepared for emergencies; yet, like 
the worst sort of tenderfoot, he had completely 
neglected every precaution. He had even left his 
knife somewhere in the cabin! Worse than this, 
he was sure that Jack Goodhue was fully as badly 
off as he, with the additional handicap of being 
younger and less experienced in meeting diffi¬ 
culties. It was certainly an unfortunate situa¬ 
tion ! 

Disconcerted and troubled though Peter may 
have been, he was not without courage. Look¬ 
ing around, he saw that he had arrived at a region 
of low hills, and he noticed ahead of him what 
resembled a deep gorge between high rocks. He 
was inclined to wish now that he had gone on 
down-stream originally, in which direction he 
would have been sure of coming ultimately to 
the Big Creek, which drained the valley in which 
Deepwater was situated. But then he remem¬ 
bered that he could not have deserted Jack Good- 
hue,—Jack, who might be wandering helplessly 
about at that very moment, wondering where his 
companion could have gone to. . . . As he 

thought things over, a kind of panic overwhelmed 
Peter, and turning, he ran down the bed of the 


ALONE IN THE WOODS 


79 


brook, stumbling over stones and falling into 
pools in a fit of terror. This mood, however, en¬ 
dured only a few seconds. Stopping short, he 
regained his composure. “ You big fool,” he said 
aloud, talking to himself. “ You aren’t far from 
home. All you’ve got to do is to stick close to 
the stream. Even if you do have to stay out all 
night, you can live until a rescue party reaches 
you; and you can try eating moss if you get 
hungry.” Reassuring himself in this fashion, 
Peter walked on more slowly, reaching the now 
familiar “ Y ” at precisely twelve o’clock, just 
before Hal, Beady, Bill, and Gige, on their return 
to the cabin, found Jack worrying about a com¬ 
panion who had not come back and must, there¬ 
fore, be lost in the forest. 

Peter now felt less perturbed in his mind. 
After all, the problem was a simple one. All he 
had to do was to keep on up the other branch of 
the brook until he arrived at Bailey’s Pond. A 
rest of a few moments gave him new spirit, and 
he went on bravely. He had advanced only a 
hundred feet when he recognized a pool where he 
had had exceptional luck; indeed he actually 
picked up, near the fallen log where he had stood 
to make his casts, a small trout which he had 


80 PETER HAD COURAGE 

discarded as under the legal length. At last he 
was on the way home! 

Peter now took a more leisurely pace, con¬ 
vinced that he could not go wrong. To his satis¬ 
faction he saw that the trail which he had made 
through the bushes was still not difficult to fol¬ 
low. With Jack Goodhue still on his mind, he 
whistled every two or three minutes, to be re¬ 
warded, after he had been walking for some time, 
by a loud shout in reply. His own cries now re¬ 
doubled in vigor, and he was soon confronted by 
Hal, who greeted him wildly, “ Where in the 
world have you been? ” 

“ Have you seen Jack? ” responded Peter, ask¬ 
ing another question in reply. 

“ Here I am, Peter,” said a high voice, and 
Jack Goodhue himself appeared, followed by 
Beady and the others of the party. “ I’ve been 
back at the cabin for hours. I called to you two 
or three times and you didn’t answer, and so I 
just came back up the creek. I thought that 
you’d be right along, but you didn’t come, and 
then I was scared. That’s why we all started out 
hunting for you.” 

“ Huh! ” said Peter, a trifle disgusted. “ Got 
anything to eat? ” 


ALONE IN THE WOODS 81 


“ Here’s a piece of milk chocolate/’ said Beady, 
drawing a slab from his pocket. 

Peter did not delay in making the necessary 
connection between himself and the food that 
was offered him. When he had devoured it to 
the last crumb and had swallowed a drink of 
water from the brook, he was ready to talk, and 
recounted his experiences with a good sense of 
their dramatic value. The audience listened in¬ 
tently, but not always with full approval of the 
speaker’s actions. 

“ Why,” commented Hal, “ any tenderfoot 
ought to have figured that out. You must have 
crossed the right-hand branch there at the fork.” 

“ Oh, yes, of course,” answered Peter sar¬ 
castically. “ If you had been there, you’d have 
solved that problem and forty others, I’ve no 
doubt. But there are moments when some of 
us get worried, and then it isn’t so easy to think 
straight. I had Jack on my mind all the time. 
Thank Heaven, he’s safe! ” 

The weary Followers of Deerfoot slowly wan¬ 
dered back to their headquarters, where Peter 
led the others in cleaning up all the food which 
remained. It was now almost five o’clock, and 
the boys had promised to get back home for sup- 


82 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


per. They packed up their blankets and kitchen 
utensils rather unenthusiastically, but with the 
pleasing realization that their heavy loads of the 
day before had been lessened through a pro¬ 
digious consumption of edibles. At the dam they 
all said “ Good-bye! ” to Hal, whose path led off 
in another direction, and the five others took the 
road back to Slaughter Lane and Wilmot Avenue. 
That night the Wadsworth boys crept off early 
to bed and a long restful sleep before school the 
next day. 

Peter did not tell his parents immediately 
about his adventures as a lost sportsman. Gige, 
however, betrayed the affair accidentally, and 
then Peter had to confess the whole story. Dr. 
Wadsworth listened attentively to all the details. 
He realized that it would be a mistake to lecture 
Peter too harshly, but he did take him aside one 
morning and explain to him once more the wis¬ 
dom of preparing for emergencies whenever the 
boy planned to enter the woods. 

“ I’ve known too many cases where boys have 
died because they were careless about carrying 
matches and a compass and a supply of rations,” 
he said. “ There was young Mathewson, who was 
lost on Mount Monadnock and frozen to death 


ALONE IN THE WOODS 83 

almost within sight of shelter. If he had had 
just a few matches, he could have taken refuge 
under some rocks and built a fire. And don’t you 
remember the man from Hamilton who got 
caught in Nine-Mile Swamp and just roamed 
around in a circle until he was worn out? It’s 
always sensible to do as experienced guides do,— 
never go far away from camp without being 
equipped to spend at least one night in the open.” 

“ Thanks, Dad, for being so decent,” said Peter. 
“ I know I made a bad mistake, but I’ve really 
learned a lesson, and you won’t find me being 
careless again. And I hope that I’ll have sense 
enough in the future not to be afraid. If I hadn’t 
let myself get frightened, I should have been all 
right.” 

“ Most of the things we worry about never 
happen, anyway,” concluded Dr. Wadsworth, 
with more seriousness than he ordinarily dis¬ 
played. “ That’s a good reason why we should 
all conquer our fears! ” 

“ I’ve learned a lot about that this summer,” 
was Peter’s answer. “ The chief thing I’m afraid 
of now is being afraid,—and I’ll get over that by 
Christmas! ” 


CHAPTER V 


THE FIGHT 

Peter Wadsworth had reached a period when 
life was getting more complex and puzzling. Up 
to his eleventh year he had been almost care-free, 
and, with few serious problems to solve, he had 
enjoyed himself hugely, like some young and 
healthy animal. Plans,—usually agreeable,—had 
been formed for him by older people, and he had 
followed them out without much thought. Now 
new ideas were forcing themselves on his mind, 
almost compelling him to pay attention to them. 
He was beginning to see that life, in a certain 
sense, is made up of tests of courage. He felt 
strange apprehensions, which he was ashamed to 
confess to his father and mother. Vague fears 
brought shivers up and down his spine, often in 
the middle of the night. He found himself medi¬ 
tating on the meaning of big words, like infinity 
and eternity and immortality. . . . But all 
these matters he kept to himself, and his parents 

merely noticed that he was evidently growing 

84 


THE FIGHT 85 

very rapidly, and insisted on feeding him malt 
and cod-liver oil! 

Only a few days after Christmas, Peter began 
to feel very tired, and, on his twelfth birthday, 
he was flat on his back in bed, with a high tem¬ 
perature. He had contracted scarlet fever! 
Even Dr. Wadsworth seemed helpless against the 
dread disease, and nothing availed much except 
the tender care of Peter’s mother, who hardly 
slept until her boy was out of danger. Although 
he did not realize it, there were moments when 
he was very near death, and his recovery had 
almost the aspect of a miracle. But somehow 
he pulled through, and there followed several 
weeks of convalescence, during which he slowly 
regained his strength, while his mother read to 
him or he watched the snowflakes pile higher and 
higher in the street. As he lay back in a big 
chair, gazing idly at the pedestrians battling their 
way through the heavy drifts, he came to the con¬ 
clusion that life itself is largely a fight,—a fight 
against diseases and meannesses and selfishness 
and fears. One of the books which Mrs. Wads¬ 
worth read to him was Fortitude, by the English 
novelist, Hugh Walpole, and it had one sentence 
which Peter never forgot: “ It isn’t life that mat- 


86 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


ters, but the courage we bring to it.” It might be 
claimed, with truth, that those weeks of apparent 
laziness taught Peter more than all the years he 
had spent at spelling and arithmetic,—although 
it may be heresy to say so. 

One of the resolutions which Peter made as he 
sat thinking was to bear suffering without flinch¬ 
ing or complaint. Without knowing it, he be¬ 
came a stoic, with the motto, “ Grin and bear it! ” 
When he had entirely recuperated and was back 
in school with his friends, he had a chance to 
carry his philosophy into practice. Across the 
street lived the Jewett family, who kept a huge 
mastiff to guard their house from intruders. One 
afternoon this dog, excited by something, rushed 
at Peter and bit him in the leg. The boy im¬ 
mediately ran home and displayed the wound to 
his father, who shuddered a little as he saw that 
the animal’s teeth had drawn blood. 

“ I’ll have to cauterize this, my boy,” he said 
quietly. 

“ What’s that, Dad? ” 

“ Oh, I’ll just have to burn it to keep any 
possible infection from spreading. It’ll hurt a 
little. Can you stand it? ” 

“ Sure I can. I won’t even utter a murmur.” 


THE FIGHT 


87 


And even when the pain was most severe, Peter 
merely clenched his teeth and said nothing,—not 
even when the tears unexpectedly filled his eyes. 
Dr. Wadsworth proudly told his friends about it 
at the Dalton Club that evening, “ Why, the kid 
acted as if he were having fun out of the opera¬ 
tion,—didn’t whimper once! ” 

All this is but a prelude to an incident which 
happened early in the following summer, a year 
after the time when Peter was nearly drowned. 
Those who are unfamiliar with American small 
town life will probably not comprehend the per¬ 
fect equality which governs boy society. Peter, 
whose father was a college man and a graduate 
of Harvard Medical School, was on intimate 
terms with the son of a Jewish tailor, a lad who 
was known as “ Goldy ” ; and Rastus Jackson, 
the little kinky-haired colored boy, used to walk 
back and forth to school with Gige. If a fellow 
could play games fairly well and was a “ good 
sport,” his friends asked no questions about an¬ 
cestry. When Peter had parties, even his mother 
could not always discriminate as she would have 
liked to do. Born and educated in Massachusetts, 
she had faith in what she called “ good blood,” 
and she was frequently shocked by Peter’s choice 


88 PETER HAD COURAGE 

of companions. She was able, of course, to draw 
the line against those who used rough language, 
—in her presence,—but even this was not always 
a satisfactory basis of discrimination. Goldy 
Goldberg, for example, was unfailing in his polite 
attentions to his hostess and almost Chester- 
fieldian in his speech and manner; while Walter 
Sanger, one of the aristocratic summer colony in 
Deepwater, had a vocabulary which astonished 
Dr. Wadsworth and led his wife to threaten to 
wash the lad’s mouth out with Ivory Soap. 

Among Peter’s neighbors on Wilmot Avenue 
were “ Mucker ” Wright, the son of the local 
blacksmith,—there were still enough horses in 
the village to make a blacksmith necessary,—and 
Frank Green, whose father kept a small fruit- 
stand on Main Street. Mucker was a heavily- 
built, bull-necked boy of about Peter’s age, with 
thick lips and a rather dull and brutish appear¬ 
ance. He was a little knock-kneed and walked 
with a shuffle, as if he had difficulty in lifting 
his large feet. The name bestowed upon him at 
birth was Ignatius,—obviously too fantastic for 
his companions, who, with no little discernment, 
had dubbed him “ Mucker.” As for Frank, he 
was a lanky and cadaverous youth, thin in the 



THE FIGHT 


89 


arms and legs, but possessing some natural gifts 
which made him the best baseball pitcher of his 
age in Deepwater; but his many home duties, to¬ 
gether with his father’s insistence that most of 
his hours out of school should be devoted to wait¬ 
ing on customers at the fruit-stand, prevented 
him from being available as often as the other 
members of the nine would have wished. Peter 
felt very sorry for Frank, principally because he 
was allowed so little freedom. As for Mucker, 
Peter disliked him heartily, but he could not help 
respecting his physical prowess. Mucker was 
clumsy, but he struck a vigorous blow, and his 
authority among the Wilmot Avenue “ gang ” 
was unquestioned. 

Now Dr. Wadsworth, although he was ab¬ 
sorbed for most of the day in the complicated 
details of his extensive practice, had definite 
theories about educating his sons. When Peter 
was ten, he received for his birthday a pair of 
boxing-gloves, and every night before he went to 
bed his father came into his room, made him put 
them on, and then proceeded to initiate him into 
the fundamental principles of the art of self- 
defense. He taught him how to stand firmly on 
both feet, with his left foot ahead of his right 


90 PETER HAD COURAGE 

and his left arm and clenched fist extended, his 
right bent over to protect his chest and abdomen. 
He showed him how to shift his weight from one 
foot to another and how to strike out at the 
proper moment, as well as how to guard himself 
against a counter-attack. When the lad grew a 
little taller and stronger, Dr. Wadsworth put on 
the gloves himself and gave him some practice in 
sparring. The physician, who had been known 
to his college classmates as Sid, the Slugger, had 
been the middle-weight champion of his day at 
Amherst, and, in spite of the weight which he 
had since accumulated, was still amazingly speedy 
and light upon his feet. 

As soon as Gige was old enough not to be 
afraid, the father matched the two boys against 
each other and trained them to endure pummel- 
ing without a whimper. Sometimes, to Mrs. 
Wadsworth’s hardly-concealed horror, one of 
them would appear at breakfast with a discolored 
eye or a cut on the cheek. But Dr. Wadsworth 
was always ready with an excuse. 

“ Oh, that’s all right, my dear,” he would say. 
“We mustn’t turn the lads into mollycoddles. 
Just remember that your great hero, Teddy 
Roosevelt, used to box all the time at Harvard 


THE FIGHT 


91 


and even was known to put on the gloves in the 
White House. Why, I can recollect that an old 
prize-fighter, Dwight Newport, at Amherst, used 
to knock me out about twice a week, and I en¬ 
joyed it. It won’t hurt the boys a bit,—it’ll 
probably do them a world of good.” 

And so Peter and Gige, in a normal healthful 
way, became very fond of boxing, and, being well 
able to take care of themselves with their fists, 
were seldom molested at school by bullies. As 
very small youngsters, they had their usual num¬ 
ber of battles with their contemporaries, and 
neither one ever ran from an opponent of his own 
size. When they reached the higher grades, 
fights were fewer, presumably because of the 
gradual taming of their animal natures by the 
softening influence of civilization and society. 

Although he was not at all a literary person,— 
he was too much interested in life itself,—Dr. 
Wadsworth had read aloud to Peter and Gige 
some classic tales of famous fights,—books like 
Conan Doyle’s The Croxley Master and Rodney 
Stone , Hazlitt’s The Fight and Jack London’s 
The Game. Sometimes he would reminisce about 
matches which he himself had seen, and, when 
a famous match was to occur in New Jersey, Dr. 


92 PETER HAD COURAGE 

Wadsworth discovered that business called him 
to New York,—and came back with a wonderful 
story of the way in which the winner had out- 
boxed and overpowered his adversary throughout 
the contest. He instilled into the souls of his 
sons the idea that it is a poor sort of man who 
will not defend himself or others against injustice 
or wanton attack. “ Everybody wants to avoid 
a fight,” he used to say with conviction. “ But 
there are bound to be occasions when you may 
not, with honor, be able to escape one, and then 
it’s a comfortable feeling not to be altogether 
helpless. Besides, boxing is splendid exercise, 
and a fine manly pastime. I hope that you’ll 
keep it up as long as you can stand it.” 

It was just before the Fourth of July, that 
anniversary so dear to the hearts of all American 
boys. In the early afternoon of a warm day, 
Peter and Gige were on their front porch count¬ 
ing their firecrackers, torpedoes, and sky-rockets, 
which had been purchased that morning with 
money saved from their allowances. As they sat 
there wondering what to do next, Frank Green 
came along on his way up the street, accompanied 
by Pat Nolan, an older and bigger boy who lived 
on a farm a mile or two from town. 


THE FIGHT 


93 


“ Hi, Peter,” shouted Frank, as he paused op¬ 
posite the house. “ Come along up to Mucker’s 
barn and see the fun. There’s going to be lots of 
excitement.” 

“ What’s up? ” inquired Peter, getting up and 
going out to meet the passers-by. 

“ Oh, just some fun. Bring Gige along and 
come on. You’ll see what’s doing when you get 
there.” 

“ Just wait a minute until I put some things 
away and I’ll be right up.” 

“ All right! And if you’ve got any firecrackers, 
we can use ’em,” added Pat. Pat was generally 
supposed to be a little “ simple,” and his un¬ 
couth appearance was accentuated by clothes 
which were much too small for him. The 
youngest of five brothers, he had inherited the 
cast-off coats and trousers of the older boys, and 
he always looked as if he had been put together 
by patchwork. In spite of his age,—he was 
fifteen,—he was in Gige’s class at school. Gige 
and Jack Goodhue delighted in telling Pat the 
most extravagant yarns, all of which he swal¬ 
lowed without the slightest suspicion that he was 
being victimized. When any pranks were played 
in school, he usually was the one to be blamed, 


94 PETER HAD COURAGE 

for he was so slow that he could not help being 
caught. 

Peter and Gige deposited most of their trea¬ 
sures in the house, selecting only a choice few of 
the noisier firecrackers, and then ran after Frank 
and Pat up the street to Mucker’s house, which 
was almost the last building before open country 
was reached. It was an unattractive ramshackle 
affair, with the paint worn off the boards and the 
chimneys almost ready to topple. The barn in 
the rear, which was even more decrepit, was used 
chiefly to shelter the Wrights’ Ford, but was now 
empty except for a circle of six or seven boys, 
who shouted a clamorous welcome. 

“ Good for you, Peter! ” 

“ That’s the stuff! Got any firecrackers, Bo? ” 
“ Now we’re all set for the fun! ” 

Peter, looking around for the source of all this 
turmoil, could see nothing but a rather frightened 
collie puppy, which Mucker was holding on a 
rope. Seeing Peter, he said to him, “ Gee, this’ll 
be sport! We’re going to tie a tin can and a 
pack of firecrackers to this pup’s tail and 
then set ’em off! Say, won’t he be a scared 
Fido! ” 

“ Just wait till they start to pop,” said Frank 


THE FIGHT 95 

Green, with a grin. “ I'll bet he breaks all records 
down the street.” 

“ Here, you get the firecrackers ready,” said 
Mucker to Peter. “ Frank and I will hold the 
beast.” 

So far Peter, a bit bewildered, had said noth¬ 
ing. He had always been allowed to own a dog, 
and his latest pet, a fine Irish setter named Bob, 
had been killed by an automobile only a few 
weeks before. This stray animal that Mucker 
had picked up reminded him a little of the one 
that he had lost. He stepped over and com¬ 
menced patting the puppy on the head. The dog 
ceased to shiver and looked gratefully up into 
Peter's eyes. It didn't look as if it had a long 
pedigree, but its face was intelligent and it 
seemed affectionate. Soon the puppy rolled over 
on his back to have his stomach scratched and 
stared up appealingly at Peter. 

Peter turned to Mucker. “ Do you mean to 
say that you're going to tie firecrackers to the 
tail of this helpless pup and then set them off? ” 

“ Sure we are. What did you think we were 
going to do,—put him on our baseball team? ” 

This was Mucker's idea of wit, and some of his 

* 

satellites laughed. 


96 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


“ Well,” said Peter, slowly but decisively, 
“ you’re not going to do it while Pm around! 
IPs a mean cruel trick! The poor thing would 
be frightened to death,—to say nothing of the 
burns it would get. I’m no angel, but I won’t 
stand for that! ” He could not have explained 
why he took the dog’s part so vigorously. It was 
just instinct, the natural sympathy of a boy who 
loved animals and could not bear to see them 
suffer. His mother, who was always feeding 
stray cats and scattering seeds on the lawn for 
birds in winter, had taught him, through her 
example, the lesson of kindness to all living 
things. 

“ So we’ve got a sissy with us, have we? ” 
sneered Mucker, his ugly face twitching with 
rage. “ You’d better go and play with the girls. 
Here, you guys, we can do without him. And 
Gige, if you don’t like it, you can run along with 
your big brother and have a game of dominoes.” 

He started to tie the string to the puppy’s tail, 
and the others gathered around to watch the 
process with eagerness in their eyes,—all except 
Peter. He hesitated a moment, and then, as he 
saw what Mucker was doing, he spoke, “ Stop 
that, you big bully! ” There was a tone in his 


THE FIGHT 97 

voice which compelled attention, and everybody 
turned to gaze at him. 

“You come and make me stop,” responded 
Mucker. “ If you try to interfere with me, I’ll 
pound that face of yours into a pulp.” He con¬ 
tinued to manipulate the string. 

Peter, his face a little paler than usual, stepped 
closer, and Mucker, noticing his expression, stood 
up and dropped the rope which he had been hold¬ 
ing. 

“Want to get a licking, don’t you?” he said. 
“ Well, I’ll take a few minutes off to give it to 
you.” He began rolling up his sleeves,—the cus¬ 
tomary Deepwater preliminary to a fight. 

“ Wait a second,” said Peter. “ I’m not trying 
to pick a fight with you, Mucker.” 

“ Going to quit, are you? ” replied Mucker, 
an expression of contempt on his face. “ I 
thought you’d change your mind. You’re yellow 
all through! If you don’t make yourself scarce, 
I’ll whip you out the door.” 

The spectators, including Gige, Beady Bennett, 
and some six or seven smaller lads, were grouped 
together awaiting the outcome with that eager¬ 
ness which is invariably displayed by those who 
are certain not to be drawn in as participants. 


98 


PETER PIAD COURAGE 


Gige was ready to cry, but held back his tears 
as best he could, trembling for the fate of his 
brother. 

“ Don't fool yourself, Mucker," said Peter 
coolly. “ I’m not going to run away or even be 
whipped off the premises. I merely wanted to 
say that, if you insist on fighting, we might as 
well do it according to rules, with regular rounds 
and officials and all that sort of thing. Gige can 
be my second, and Frank will be yours. We can 
fix up a ring right here in the barn,—and you 
needn’t worry about my trying to escape. I’ll be 
here just as long as you will.’’ 

“ Aw, lay off all this ladylike stuff,’’ growled 
Mucker, who did not understand why a fight 
should have rules and restrictions of any kind. 
“ I don’t need no second to help me lick you. 
Why don’t we just go to it until I’ve made you 
quit? That’ll happen quick enough! ’’ 

“ Peter’s right, Mucker,’’ interposed Beady, 
who, as usual, was well up on the rules of every 
sport. “ Why not let Pat Nolan be referee? 
He’s the oldest fellow here. I can explain to him 
about fouls and clinches and all that. It’s just 
as easy to do the whole thing in the proper 
way.’’ 


THE FIGHT 99 

" IVe got some eight-ounce gloves down home 
if Mucker wants them/' added Peter. 

“ What do we want of gloves? ” asked Mucker 
in his hoarse voice. “ Does everybody think this 
is going to be a pink tea? Guess you’re afraid to 
stand up against bare knuckles, aren’t you, 
Peter? ” 

“ No, not exactly,” said Peter, smiling enig¬ 
matically at his opponent. “ I’ll go just as far 
as you want to,—only I somehow thought that 
you would like to observe the usual practice. 
Prize-fighters always wear leather gloves, you 
know. Even Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney 
didn’t use their bare fists.” 

“ Well, this ain’t no boxing-match. This is a 
fight,—and to the finish, too. And, what’s more, 
I’m going to put you to sleep so fast that you 
won’t even know that the scrap is over. You’ll 
last just about one round! ” 

Peter sensibly made no answer to this an¬ 
nouncement, but little Gige, in spite of his con¬ 
fidence in his brother, could not help shuddering. 
Meanwhile, under Beady’s skilful direction, a 
“ ring ” about ten feet square had been measured 
off on the floor and shut in by boxes and barrels 
which the boys found back of the barn. Peter, 



100 PETER HAD COURAGE 

following the example set by Mucker, took off 
his shirt and undershirt, showing a skin which 
was tanned almost to a mahogany brown by 
exposure to the sun during many excursions to 
Bailey’s Pond. As the competitors stood up 
together in the ring, it was apparent that Mucker 
was the taller and heavier; but Peter was lean 
and lithe, and evidently in better physical condi¬ 
tion. Mucker’s flesh was white and flabby, and 
he looked very soft. Nevertheless his advantage 
in height and weight made it seem as if the odds 
were in his favor. 

The two seconds, looking very important, had 
contrived to find some pails, and Frank Green 
produced two old sponges which had been used 
to clean the Wright automobile,—decidedly un¬ 
sanitary but very realistic. As is always the case, 
the spectators were eager to volunteer their ser¬ 
vices in any capacity which would promote the 
fight without any danger to themselves. When 
everything was in readiness, Beady, who was a 
stickler for the conventions, stepped into the cen¬ 
ter of the ring and motioned to the crowd to be 
quiet. Then he spoke, “ Ladies and gentlemen,— 
or rather just gentlemen,—the contest this after¬ 
noon will be between Mucker Wright, the Iron 


THE FIGHT 


101 


Man of Deepwater, and Wild Pete Wadsworth, 
the Wilmot Avenue Terror. The rounds will be 
two minutes long, and the battle will continue 
until one of the boxers throws up the sponge. 
The referee is Pat Nolan, the Farmers' Pet! ” 
Beady then sat down on a barrel at one side of 
the ring, and Pat Nolan, holding in his hand 
Peter's Ingersoll watch, borrowed for the pur¬ 
poses of timing, stood up and said, “ Are you 
ready? " Both boys answered, “ Yes." “ All 
right, go ahead! " said Pat,—and the fight was 
on! 

Peter stepped from his corner to shake hands 
with his opponent as he had been taught to do; 
but, while he was advancing with his face quite 
unprotected, Mucker drew back his right fist and 
hit him on the jaw so forcibly that Peter stum¬ 
bled and fell. 

“Yeah! Good work, Mucker!" shouted a 
group of the spectators, the majority of whom 
were evidently for the bigger boy. 

“You coward!" cried little Gige, unable to 
restrain his anger. “ You dirty coward! Couldn't 
you see that Peter was trying to shake hands 
with you? " 

“ Forget it! " retaliated Frank Green, holding 


102 PETER HAD COURAGE 

him back. “ Who ever heard of shaking hands 
in a real fight? ” 

“ What do you say, Pat?” asked Gige. 
“ Wasn’t that a foul? ” 

By this time Peter had recovered and was 
standing rather shakily on his legs. Up to this 
moment there had been a smile on his counte¬ 
nance; now his blue eyes were blazing with rage. 
On his jaw was a red spot, showing where 
Mucker’s knuckles had struck. 

“ Never mind, Gige,” he said, with a slight 
tremor in his voice. “ Get back in your corner. 
This isn’t over yet.” 

“ Had enough, kid? ” asked Mucker arrogantly. 
“ I don’t want to kill you, you know.” 

“ Let’s go right ahead,” replied Peter, who had 
now fully regained his equilibrium. “ You’ll soon 
see whether I’m done for.” 

Pat Nolan, who had looked on in a puzzled 
way during this interchange of amenities, now 
took charge of affairs once more. “ Start again! ” 
he cried. “ Go right to it, both of you! ” Peter 
stepped forward, this time with his arms in front 
of him in approved championship style, his body 
slightly crouched. He circled on his toes around 
the suspicious Mucker, waiting for an opening, 


THE FIGHT 


103 


“ Don’t dance around me, you spider,” said 
Mucker, as he waited for Peter to come closer. 
“ This is no ballroom. I want action.” 

Just then Peter, with incredible quickness, 
leaped forward. His left fist, almost before 
Mucker could finish speaking, caught him 
squarely on the nose, with all the power of 
Peter’s shoulder and body behind it, and his 
right, following at the same second, went straight 
to his opponent’s projecting stomach. Mucker 
was doubled up with pain, and a ruddy stream be¬ 
gan to pour down over his mouth and chin. Mad¬ 
dened, like a bull in a ring, he rushed at Peter, 
swinging his arms like the wings of a windmill, 
raining blows which Peter had no difficulty in 
dodging. His dexterous foot-work kept him out 
of Mucker’s reach, and he whirled this way and 
that, always guarding himself against those ter¬ 
rible arms. At last, when Mucker plunged at 
him with both fists incautiously spread wide 
apart, Peter stepped in and drove a vigorous 
thrust at the other’s right eye. Temporarily 
blinded, Mucker put his hands up to his face and 
stopped, just as Pat Nolan called “Time!” 
“ Great work! ” shouted Peter’s friends, now in¬ 
creasing in number as his prowess became evi- 


104 PETER HAD COURAGE 

dent. Frank Green led the dazed Mucker back 
to his corner, where, as he lay back in a chair, 
his supporters bathed his face solicitously and 
proffered the customary advice. . . . “ Don’t 

rush at him, Mucker. Wait for him to come to 
you. Can’t you see that he’s clever with his feet? 
You’ll get him if you can just land that right of 
yours once.” . . . Meanwhile Mucker was 

recovering his wind, which had been damaged by 
too many cheap cigarettes. His eye was turning 
a peculiar hue of green, and his nose, although 
the crimson tide,—as journalists say,—had ceased 
to flow, was swollen to a grotesque size. Peter’s 
blows were clearly no gentle love-pats! 

Peter, on the other hand, was uninjured except 
for his sore jaw, and he was in a position to judge 
his opponent’s maneuvers very fairly. “ I’m abso¬ 
lutely all right,” he said, replying to anxious 
queries from Gige and Beady. “ He’s just a big 
lumbering bull, without any science at all. It’ll 
be easy to keep out of his way.” 

All these remarks went on during the intermis¬ 
sion of one minute. Almost before either fighter 
could realize it, Pat Nolan cried, “ Time’s up, 
men! ” The alert seconds shoved their principals 
into the ring. Mucker was clearly more wary now 


THE FIGHT 


105 


and somewhat disinclined to come to close quar¬ 
ters,—for which reluctance he could not very well 
be blamed, considering that his left eye was al¬ 
most closed and that his head was none too 
steady. However he was no “ quitter,” and he 
moved cautiously forward, stubbornly determined 
to make one ferocious uppercut end it all. 
He was still breathing rather heavily from his 
exertions; while Peter was light on his feet as he 
pranced exasperatingly around his opponent. 
Peter waited a few seconds to see what Mucker’s 
plan of action was to be; then, realizing that it 
would be good strategy to force the fighting, he 
dashed quickly in and struck Mucker on his sore 
nose so hard that the latter could not help groan¬ 
ing a little with the pain. His rage getting the 
better of him, he tried to seize the crafty Peter in 
a clinch, but Peter easily avoided him and swung 
his right to Mucker’s damaged eye. This time 
Mucker dropped his arms and looked despairingly 
around him, and Peter disdainfully flipped his left 
hand on his adversary’s bruised nose. 

The little crowd of boys were at this point wild 
with excitement. “ Kill him, Peter! ” yelled one 
group of partisans, with the bloodthirstiness of 
youth. “Soak him, Mucker! You can get him 


106 PETER HAD COURAGE 

yet! ” responded Frank Green, rather half-heart¬ 
edly, for it was evident that their man was weak¬ 
ening badly. 

As Peter stepped forward, apparently ready to 
administer the coup de grace, Mucker sank awk¬ 
wardly down on his knees, not knocked out, but 
simply dazed by the pounding which he had re¬ 
ceived. 

“ He’s had enough, I guess,” said Peter, as he 
waited patiently for Mucker to rise. But Mucker 
was indisposed to get up, in spite of the urging of 
his attendants. 

“ I’ll count you out if you stay there,” said Pat 
Nolan, who was not familiar with the policy 
which a referee should follow under such peculiar 
circumstances. Mucker could do nothing but 
shake his head, and finally Frank Green, helping 
him to his feet, led him back to his corner, where 
he sat in the chair, rubbing his sore nose and 
blinking his eyes. Frank tried to induce him to 
return, but Mucker turned on him and said in 
an angry tone, “ Go in with him yourself if you’re 
so eager to have a fight. I’m through.” 

Perceiving the real state of affairs, Pat Nolan 
now stepped into the ring and announced, 
“ Fight awarded to the Wilmot Avenue Terror in 


THE FIGHT 107 

two rounds! ” Peter walked across the enclosure 
to speak to his rival. 

“ Shake hands, old man/’ he said. “ It wasn’t 
a fair match, you know. You’ve never had any 
lessons in boxing, and I have. And besides, you 
aren’t in training.” 

“ No, you licked me square enough,” said the 
battered Mucker, extending his own begrimed 
paw. “And you’re some scrapper, kiddo, I’ll say 
that! I wish you’d teach me some of them 
tricks.” 

“ Sure I will,” answered the large-hearted 
Peter. “And when you learn them, you’ll be a 
tough man to beat.” 

Putting on his clothes, Peter then started home, 
taking Gige and Beady with him, amid the con¬ 
gratulations of the spectators. The unkempt- 
looking collie which had been the innocent cause 
of all this excitement followed them, as if rec¬ 
ognizing intuitively that he had some friends. 

“ Come along, pup,” said Peter, stopping to pat 
the poor animal. “ We’ll take you home and give 
you a bath. You need it, all right.” 

“ Say, Peter,” commented Beady, as they 
walked along, “ you sure made a monkey of that 
fellow.” 


108 PETER HAD COURAGE 


“ It wasn’t really very hard,” confessed Peter 
modestly. “ He’s big and heavy, but he hasn’t 
any science. I honestly believe that Gige here 
could get a decision over him in a fair boxing 
match. But he’s got a wicked wallop if he ever 
has a chance to use it, and that first punch of 
his nearly knocked me out.” He put his hand re¬ 
flectively up to the tender place on his jaw. 

When Peter displayed the new canine acquisi¬ 
tion to his parents, they demurred somewhat, but 
eventually agreed that he could keep the puppy, 
if he provided a bed for him in the garage. 

“ I’m going to call him ‘ Rip/ Mother,” said 
Peter at the dinner table. “ Short for Euripides, 
you know! ” 

a How did you get hold of him?” asked Dr. 
Wadsworth, who had just come in. 

“ Oh, Dad,” said Gige, unable to restrain him¬ 
self, “ Peter had a regular fight with Mucker 
Wright and knocked him out in the second 
round! ” 

“ Why, Peter,” said Mrs. Wadsworth reproach¬ 
fully, “ have you been fighting like a common 
rowdy? ” 

“ Not exactly, Mother,” replied Peter, hasten¬ 
ing to explain the circumstances. As he proceeded 


THE FIGHT 109 

with the narrative, Dr. Wadsworth’s eyes were 
sparkling with pride and satisfaction. 

“ But,” interposed Mrs. Wadsworth, “ couldn’t 
you reason with the Wright boy and explain to 
him how cruel it was to torture a poor dumb ani¬ 
mal? That would have prevented your fighting.” 

“ Now, my dear,” said Dr. Wadsworth, “ don’t 
bother the boy. He did exactly the right thing, 
and we ought both of us to be very proud of him 
for it.” 

“ Did he hurt you very much, dear? ” inquired 
his mother solicitously. 

“ Not much,” replied Peter. “ He caught me 
once on the jaw, but it doesn’t pain much.” 

“And say, Dad, you ought to see Mucker,” 
burst out Gige. “ He’s got an eye that’s all green, 
and his nose covers his whole face. He won’t 
dare come out on the street for a week.” 

“How horrible! ” exclaimed Mrs. Wadsworth. 
But Peter felt, what Dr. Wadsworth knew, that 
these were mere conventional words, and that she 
too was really glad of Peter’s conduct,—although, 
like a woman, she didn’t want to admit it. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 

Independence Day, as observed in a small 
community like Deepwater, is an important occa¬ 
sion, especially for the young, who, by common 
consent of parents and police authorities, are per¬ 
mitted a liberty of conduct which they enjoy at no 
other time during the year. Patriotic gangs of 
small boys roam the streets on the night of the 
Third, shooting off firecrackers and making a tu¬ 
mult without much fear that the constable will 
do more than warn them not to become too law¬ 
less. The fun is all harmless, and no damage is 
caused to property. Then, at midnight, comes 
the great bonfire in the central square, for which 
wood has been carried all day long, most of it 
supplied in the form of discarded barrels and 
boxes by the local merchants. Peter had been 
promised that, when he was twelve, he could stay 
up for the bonfire, and he had been looking for¬ 
ward for weeks to the “ night before.” Not even 

his sore jaw could prevent him from departing 

110 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 111 

rather ostentatiously, right after dinner, to join 
the members of his gang in the park. Little 
Gige, still considered too young for such dissipa¬ 
tion, sat on the front porch, with Rip at his side, 
watching his elder brother enviously. 

“ You’ve got your old trousers on, I hope,” said 
Mrs. Wadsworth, as he walked off. 

“ Yes, Mother.” 

“ Don’t get burned, will you? ” 

“ No, Mother, I won’t.” This was said in a 
tone indicating slight traces of annoyance. 

“And don’t stay out after one o’clock, my boy.” 

“ I’ll try not to, but don’t sit up for me,” an¬ 
swered Peter, trying with difficulty to be patient, 
but strolling on down the street with the non¬ 
chalance of a man about town going to his club. 

Peter was to meet Beady, Hal Webster, Leaky 
Terry, and some older boys in the center of the 
park, a circular dirt space where the Deepwater 
Military Band played on extraordinary occasions. 
Among those to appear was Mucker Wright, 
black eye, swollen nose, and all, who greeted 
Peter rather sheepishly when the latter came 
along. 

“ Let’s forget it,” was Peter’s salutation. 
“ There’s no use in staying mad, is there? ” 


112 PETER HAD COURAGE 


“ Of course not,” responded Mucker, who was 
only waiting for an opportunity of reconciliation. 
“ You trimmed me, all right, and I don't bear any 
grudge against you. Shake! ” And his hand was 
extended in amity to meet Peter’s. Thus the 
quarrel was patched up, and the two were again 
bosom friends,—so much so that when Hal Web¬ 
ster commented sarcastically on Mucker’s pe¬ 
culiar facial swelling, Peter turned on him, say¬ 
ing, “ Shut up, will you! That’s all over now.” 
Hal, familiar with Peter’s reputation as a pugilist, 
said no more upon the subject. 

It was a delightfully warm summer evening, 
without the slightest sign of a chill in the air and 
yet not oppressive. The boys played games in 
the park until the shadows grew longer, and then 
they turned to the business of transporting fuel 
to the big pile of combustibles already assembled. 

“ This is the biggest one for five years,” said 
Mucker, as he helped to hoist an enormous bar¬ 
rel, which, from the smell, had once contained 
tar, up to stronger arms nearer the top of the 
pyre. 

“ It’s the first I ever saw,” admitted Peter, “ and 
it looks tall enough to me. They’ll be able to 
see the blaze as far as Schuyler, I’ll bet.” 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 113 

Soon this form of exertion palled on the mem¬ 
bers of the gang, who drew together for consulta¬ 
tion. Various plans of action were suggested, 
only to be debated and rejected. At last Beady, 
whose active mind was always ready with some 
scheme, cried, “ Let’s have some fun with old 
Filkins! Hell give us some excitement.” Mr. 
Filkins was a notorious old curmudgeon, who, 
as a confirmed bachelor, hated boys and all their 
works, and had aroused their enduring resentment 
during the previous winter by forbidding them to 
coast down the steep hill back of his house. He 
had an uncontrollable temper, and was, as the 
boys knew only too well, always ready to vent his 
rage on trespassers. The sun had now gone down 
and the stars were out. The boys were mysterious 
figures as they moved up Sanger Street to the 
thick lilac hedge which shut off the Filkins resi¬ 
dence from the road. Scattering, they found their 
way through the bushes to a point near the broad 
piazza, where they held a whispered consultation 
on the important question as to who should be 
deputed as the gang’s representative. The choice 
fell on Beady, who stole up the steps in his rub¬ 
ber-soled shoes and pulled the door-bell so hard 
that the ring seemed to resound through the 


114 PETER HAD COURAGE 

night air from an open window on the veranda. 
Then he slipped back to await developments. 
After a considerable interval, a light appeared. 
Mr. Filkins himself fumbled at the door and 
stood there gazing out into the darkness, the glow 
from the lamp which he carried streaming over 
his white hair and long patriarchal beard. 

“ Drat those young ’uns,” Peter could hear him 
say, as he raised the lamp and seemed to be lis¬ 
tening intently. Then he muttered in an angry 
voice, “ Darn ye, jest wait till I ketch ye, ye 
little imps of Satan! ” 

There was a spontaneous cackle from behind 
the rose-bushes where the boys lay concealed, 
and the old man, hearing the tittering, said in a 
louder voice, “ I’ll get a gun! I’ll set the police 
on ye! I’ll have ye locked . . .” 

Just then Hal Webster threw a pack of small 
firecrackers to the foot of the steps, where they 
began sputtering with little sharp detonations. 
Astonished at the noise which they made in the 
quiet night, the conspirators fell into a wild 
panic; Hal Webster started to run, and, in the 
confusion, even the usually unperturbed Peter 
took the alarm and fled as fast as he could go. 
Once he sprawled over a root and measured his 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 115 


length on the ground, with a violent tingling in 
his toes. Not until he had emerged from the 
Filkins estate and was well down Sanger Street, 
in the shadows of the maples around the edge 
of the park, did he cease his flight and lie down 
on the grass to regain his breath. In five minutes 
he was himself again and strolled to the gravel 
circle in the middle of the triangle, where a hasty 
search soon showed him his other companions in 
mischief. Some of them were still puffing, and 
Beady was a little frightened as to the conse¬ 
quences of his daring, but they were all elated 
over the exploit. 

“ I shouldn’t have done it,” explained Peter to 
his mother the next morning, “ if he hadn’t been 
the meanest man in town. Dad says that he 
practically stole all his sister’s money, and he 
never has been known to give away a penny to 
anybody or anything.” 

“Yes, my boy,” Mrs. Wadsworth answered, 
“ but that doesn’t justify you in plaguing the old 
gentleman, does it? ” 

“ Well, Mother, I can’t say that I am sorry. 
We didn’t hurt him a bit, and it was all good fun. 
If anybody had done the same thing to Dad, he’d 
have laughed over it.” 


116 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ Oh, that’s different, of course,” replied the 
mother, unable to find a satisfactory answer. 
And the conversation stopped at that point. 

For a while the boys rested in the darkness, 
talking it all over in subdued tones, all wondering 
whether Mr. Filkins would find out who they 
were and have them brought up before a judge. 
But such energy cannot long remain dammed up, 
and there was soon a stir among those who, like 
Peter, wanted to be on the move again. 

“ Say, fellows,” said Peter, suddenly sitting up 
and speaking excitedly, “ what do you think of 
carrying off the Congers’ iron dog and putting it 
in the school-yard? ” 

Here was a brand new idea! Colonel Montague 
Conger occupied an imposing stone house on 
Norcross Avenue,—a place which, with its stone 
front and tall white pillars, was one of the show 
spots of the village. Around it was a spacious 
lawn, always carefully mowed in summer, and in 
the middle, in a conspicuous position, was a huge 
mastiff, with tail protruding out straight into 
space and an attitude of calmness combined with 
pride and reserve,—a beast constructed, however, 
not of flesh and blood, but of iron. Between the 
lawn and the street was a metal fence, effectually 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 117 


shutting out casual visitors, so that Peter had 
never been able to make a detailed inspection of 
the animal’s anatomy. It had long aroused his 
admiration, however, and he had frequently 
studied it meditatively from a distance. He and 
Gige had often discussed whether or not it was 
hollow, but that important question had not yet 
been positively settled by the disputants. Alto¬ 
gether, the Congers’ dog was a fascinating sub¬ 
ject for speculation,—and investigation. 

“ It’s too heavy,” responded “ Goldy ” Gold¬ 
berg, who was the laziest of the clan. “ We could 
never even lift it, to say nothing of carrying it 
off.” 

“ I’ll bet we could,” said Hal. “ It can’t be so 
terribly heavy. Mert Foster, the man that works 
for Colonel Conger, told me that he thought he 
could lift it off the pedestal,—and there are pretty 
nearly a dozen of us.” 

“ We can try it, anyhow, even if we have to 
give it up,” said Peter, who, as usual, was forming 
a plan. “ There’s a way of getting into the garden 
from White Street, back of the garage, and, if 
we’re quiet, nobody’ll ever know what we’re do¬ 
ing. It’s worth while going up to have a look.” 

“ Suppose Patsy Fry, the cop, catches us! ” 


118 PETER HAD COURAGE 

suggested Beady Bennett, introducing a note of 
pessimism into the council. 

“ Oh, our dads will fix it all right with him,” 
said Peter, confidently. “ My father gives him 
medicine for his cough, and I guess he won’t put 
us in the lock-up unless we commit murder or 
highway robbery or something really bad like 
that.” 

There was some very sensible argument against 
Peter’s proposal, but at last the more venture¬ 
some spirits had their way, and the little band of 
plotters started off on their nefarious errand. It 
was now well past ten o’clock, and the night had 
become dark. The boys went through the center 
of the village, taking another look at the huge 
pile of barrels, and then on past Beady Bennett’s 
home and up White Street. When they came to 
a narrow roadway just beyond an electric arc 
light, Peter turned down to the left, going past a 
small garage belonging to the Widow Andrews 
and then through her vegetable garden, at the 
rear of which was a stone wall bounding the Con¬ 
ger estate. It was not difficult for the agile 
youngsters to climb this barrier one by one and 
drop lightly on the other side. Then Peter 
groped his way along in the darkness, followed by 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 119 


Hal, Mucker, Beady, Leaky, Goldy, and two or 
three others, each clinging to the one in front of 
him so that the band might not be separated. 
Past a grape arbor and under some apple-trees 
they went until they emerged in a broad open 
space, beyond which they could see the dark mass 
of the Conger house. Peter pointed to a vague 
figure which could be dimly descried in the star¬ 
light. “ There’s the pup! ” he whispered to those 
behind him. “ Now we’ll see about hauling him 
out.” 

Dropping to their hands and knees in imitation 
of Peter, the boys crept out on the lawn, moving 
silently towards their goal. When they reached 
the statue, they gathered around it, seized it 
where their hands could find room, and, when 
Peter gave a low signal, began to lift. He and 
Mucker, the two strongest, had taken strategic 
positions, and Peter found himself grasping the 
projecting iron tail and straining with every 
muscle. 

“ Work, you terriers! ” he grunted, as he took 
another hold. “ She’s coming! I can feel her 
giving way! ” 

There was an unexpected sharp cracking sound, 
and Peter felt himself falling unexpectedly over 


120 PETER HAD COURAGE 


backwards. The statue, which had been imbed¬ 
ded in solid concrete, was practically immovable, 
but the tail had broken off in his hands, leaving 
the body of the animal intact. Peter’s involun¬ 
tary cry of surprise, accompanied by his sudden 
movement, frightened his companions, who, in 
their nervousness, turned and scurried like rab¬ 
bits in all directions. Peter, picking himself up 
from the grass and trying to recall what had hap¬ 
pened, caught a faint outline of shadowy forms 
vanishing into the denser obscurity of the trees. 
It was obvious that he had been deserted by his 
allies. 

All responsibility for their safety being re¬ 
moved, Peter realized that he must look out for 
himself. While he was hesitating, wondering just 
what to do next, he saw lights coming on grad¬ 
ually in the house not far away. Evidently the 
noise which the gang had made had aroused some 
of the Conger family, and there was about to be 
an investigation,—possibly with disastrous con¬ 
sequences to Peter Wadsworth unless that indi¬ 
vidual made a rapid exit. Crawling abjectly on 
his stomach, the metal tail still in his hand, he 
reached cover behind a spreading rhododendron, 
and there awaited developments. In a second or 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 121 


two the veranda was brightly illuminated, and a 
tall, erect gentleman, with grey hair and a Van 
Dyck beard, clad in a gorgeous dressing-gown, 
seemed to be directing a search. Two or three 
men-servants were flashing torch-lights about the 
lawn, and soon one of them exclaimed, “ They’ve 
been here, Colonel Conger! Some ruffians have 
been trying to carry off the dog! ” 

One of the “ ruffians ” thus mentioned was 
Peter, who, concealed in a spot not over forty 
feet away, could hear every word of the conversa¬ 
tion distinctly, and his teeth chattered as if he 
had been out in a February storm. 

“ Well! Well! ” said the Colonel, coming down 
from the steps to investigate. “ Where do you 
suppose they have gone? ” 

“ Oh, they’ve all vanished by this time, sir,” re¬ 
plied a servant’s voice. “ But look, here’s a note¬ 
book that one of them must have dropped in his 
flight.” 

At this a clammy sweat began to rise on Peter’s 
forehead. He felt in his pocket for the little 
memorandum book which he usually carried. It 
was gone! He would be caught now without any 
question! As if hypnotized, he watched Colonel 
Conger as the latter took the little red-covered 


122 PETER HAD COURAGE 


volume in his hand, glanced at it for a moment 
by the glow of his flash-light, and chuckled au¬ 
dibly. 

“ We have a clue, all right,” he said. “And now 
I think that we might as well go to bed. I don’t 
believe we’ll be bothered again this evening. We 
can take whatever measures are necessary in the 
morning.” 

The investigators retreated to the shelter of the 
house; the lights were gradually extinguished, 
until the only illumination came from the bed¬ 
rooms in the second story; and still Peter Wads¬ 
worth remained concealed behind the mass of 
foliage. For once in his brief career he was really 
completely alarmed. His father had taught him 
not to be afraid of physical peril, and he had not 
shrunk from confronting Mucker Wright in com¬ 
bat; but this was something new! Although he 
did not fully comprehend it, his conscience was 
beginning to function. Shivering in the warm 
night, he stole from his hiding-place out to the 
street, walking down the Congers’ front walk 
hardly caring whether he were observed or not; 
and then he proceeded disconsolately back to the 
square, with all his enthusiasm for the coming 
fire dead in his heart. He had been detected in 



“We have a clue, all eight. ’’—Page 122. 


















































































































THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 123 


a criminal act and would undoubtedly be put in 
jail. The disgrace to his family would be terrible, 
and his mother and father could never forgive 
him. All his jaunty self-confidence had evap¬ 
orated. For a moment he dallied with the idea 
of running away and shipping before the mast, 
as Richard Henry Dana had done, but his com¬ 
mon sense warned him that this would probably 
break his mother’s heart. No,—the only right 
procedure was to accept the penalty like a man, 
without whimpering. 

So engrossed was he in his own gloomy medi¬ 
tations that he had hardly bestowed a thought 
upon the others; but, when he reached the Pres¬ 
byterian Church, there were Beady, Hal, Leaky, 
Mucker, and the rest all chattering away like 
magpies. He was greeted by loud and sincere 
cries of welcome. 

“ Where’ve you been, old top? ” 

“ Wasn’t that a wonderful stunt? I’ll say it 
was! ” 

“ Say, that dog’ll be a sight to-morrow morn¬ 
ing when the family have a look at it! ” 

To their astonishment, the usual exuberant 
Peter made no responsive laugh. Instead he only 
smiled so wretchedly that Beady paused in the 


124 PETER HAD COURAGE 

midst of his chuckling and inquired, “ What’s the 
matter, Peter? Did you hurt yourself? ” 

“ No, I’m perfectly all right,” responded Peter, 
in a tone which completely gave the lie to his 
words. 

“ Did the old boy catch you? ” asked Hal 
eagerly,—almost hopefully. 

“ No, I got away easily enough. But the Colo¬ 
nel found my note-book—I saw him pick it up 
and look at it,—and I’ll be pinched to-morrow, 
all right.” 

“ What’s that in your hand? ” inquired 
Mucker. 

Peter looked down. He was still carrying the 
iron tail. He had walked all the way down Main 
Street with that telltale evidence in his hand,— 
a hard metal object at least eight or nine inches 
long. Fortunately he had passed nobody that he 
could remember. 

“ Well, you certainly ought to win the prize for 
dumbness! ” commented Hal. “ Why don’t you 
get rid of the evidence? What’s the use of adver¬ 
tising it to the whole town? ” 

“ It doesn’t really make much difference that I 
can see,” remarked Peter sadly, although he could 
not help being somewhat amused by his careless- 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 125 

ness. “ They’ll get me, anyhow, no matter where 
the tail is. They know I took it.” 

“ You’d better put the old tail where nobody 
will see it,” suggested Beady. “ That’s just com¬ 
mon sense. What’s the use of running a bigger 
risk than you need to? You look funny enough 
walking around with that in your hand.” 

And so Peter, perceiving the wisdom of this ad¬ 
vice, thrust the heavy piece of metal under his 
coat, which he carefully buttoned up over it. 
Even then he was in terror of discovering that 
some sharp eye had detected the subterfuge. 
He accompanied the others to the pile of bar¬ 
rels, wanting all the while to be in some less con¬ 
spicuous place where he could think out his prob¬ 
lem. When they passed Patsy Fry, the town 
constable, of whom Peter had been so contemp¬ 
tuous not long before, the boy could make no re¬ 
sponse to Patsy’s cordial “ Hello, young feller, 
havin’ a good time? ” As if fascinated by some 
lure, he stared at Patsy’s policeman’s “billy,” 
which the latter was twirling carelessly in his 
fingers, and slunk away into the shelter of the 
maples. 

Exactly at midnight the bells in all the church 
steeples in Deepwater began to ring out lustily, 


126 PETER HAD COURAGE 

pulled by the willing hands of volunteers. As the 
first peal sounded, some master of ceremonies 
touched off the kerosene-sprinkled shavings and 
excelsior at the base of the pile. Almost instan¬ 
taneously the blaze shot high up into the air, and 
soon the entire square was illuminated by the 
flames, the tar barrels sending forth here and 
there clouds of dense black smoke with an agree¬ 
able smell. Peter, avoiding publicity, shoved 
himself back where the glow was less bright. Or¬ 
dinarily he would have been delighted at the 
spectacle and would have danced joyously about 
it as his friends were now doing. For the mo¬ 
ment, however, his mind was absorbed in other 
cogitations, principally in wondering what the 
dawn would bring,—the lock-up, perhaps, and a 
cell with iron bars. There was no lustre in his 
eyes and no gladness in his heart as he looked 
furtively about. His conscience was becoming 
oppressive; or, to put it in another way, his fine 
ancestry and good home training were beginning 
to tell. 

For half an hour the fire burned fiercely, send¬ 
ing its intense heat far up the avenues entering 
the square. Then it slowly died down. Whole 
sections of the pile unexpectedly collapsed, and 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 127 


by one o’clock the once impressive mass of com¬ 
bustibles had sunk into a low circle of red embers. 
Without even saying “ Good-night! ” to his 
friends, Peter slipped away and trudged home, 
his head held low. A few of the bystanders, rec¬ 
ognizing him as “ Doc ” Wadsworth’s boy, made 
facetious remarks, such as “ Does your mother 
know you’re out, young fella? ” and “ Aren’t you 
afraid you’ll get lost, bub? ” but he who was 
usually so quick with the appropriate retort now 
just plodded stolidly along, a pathetic figure to 
those who could have understood his inner emo¬ 
tions. When he opened the front door and stole 
softly up the stairs, Mrs. Wadsworth called from 
her room, “ Is that you, Peter? ” and he an¬ 
swered, “Yes, Mother/’ as if nothing had oc¬ 
curred out of the ordinary. But once on his bed, 
he rolled and tossed nervously for hours, endeav¬ 
oring hopelessly to efface the memory of the hor¬ 
rible thing that had happened. 

He was awakened by Gige, who tore off his 
bedclothes and bellowed lustily in his ear, “ Get 
up, lazybones, get up! It’s after seven o’clock, 
and I want to hear all about the fire! ” Slowly 
Peter came back from a dream world, peopled by 
green and tentacled monsters, to this very solid 


128 PETER HAD COURAGE 


and substantial earth, with its possibilities of 
condign punishment. He was not sure, when his 
eyes had fully opened, that the change was for 
the better. 

With difficulty, Peter emerged safely from the 
trying ordeal of a family breakfast. Although he 
had secreted the tail under a pile of shirts in the 
lower drawer of his bureau, he still felt as if 
everybody must know that he had it in his pos¬ 
session, and he replied abstractedly to the many 
questions propounded by his parents regarding 
his experiences on the previous night; indeed they 
seemed, to his sensitive nature, to be conducting 
what resembled a cross-examination in some court 

of justice,—for he had read about such trials in 

• 

the newspapers. Mrs. Wadsworth detected her 
son’s reticence, of course, but attributed it to his 
unwonted dissipation of the evening before. She 
contented herself by saying, as the lad got up to 
go out, “ Well, Peter, you’re pretty much worn 
out from lack of sleep. Please be quiet to-day 
and get rested.” 

“ Yes, Mother,” answered Peter in his most 
dutiful voice, all the while praying inwardly that 
he might be let alone. If parents could only un¬ 
derstand how their sons hate to be admonished 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 129 

or catechized! The one basic desire of the thor¬ 
oughly normal male, young or old, is not to be 
questioned about his actions. The inquiries are 
always so foolish anyhow! “ Did you have a 

good time, dear? ” “ You’re taking your rubbers, 
aren’t you? ” “ Why didn’t you go with Wil¬ 
lie? ” . . . And all the while you really 

wanted to answer,—only it was discourteous,— 
that you were being bored to death, or that rub¬ 
bers on a dry day were absurd, or that Willie was 
the one boy in Deepwater that you heartily de¬ 
tested! 

Once out in the park shooting off salutes in the 
open air, Peter was in a better mood, but only 
because his mind was for a few moments diverted 
by noise and excitement. He honestly was ex¬ 
pecting at any second to see Patsy Fry approach 
in his blue coat with brass buttons and silver 
badge, and to be seized by the collar and led off 
to the village lock-up,—that horrid place in the 
basement of the Town Hall which he had once 
timidly investigated in those far-off days when 
he had not been an offender against society and 
had nothing to fear. 

The memory of certain morbid stories by Edgar 
Allan Poe lingered in Peter’s mind, and he shud- 


130 PETER HAD COURAGE 


dered. A struggle was going on in his soul, in¬ 
volving an important moral issue. To confess or 
not to confess! In the making of a decision all 
sorts of factors played their part; he was afraid 
of punishment, of course, but he was equally dis¬ 
inclined to face Colonel Conger with the tale of 
his bad deed. All the morning he entered into 
games with Beady, Mucker Wright, Frank Green, 
and the other boys who gathered in the park to 
celebrate the holiday. Then Hal came along and 
took Peter aside to discuss developments. 

“ I rode down Norcross Avenue on my way 
here,” he reported, “ and the dog was still there 
all right. You could hardly tell from the road 
that his tail was gone. What did you do with it, 
anyhow? If they had it, they could solder it on 
easy enough.” 

Peter was not disposed to be communicative, 
but he listened to every word and pondered it in 
his heart. About the present location of the tail 
he divulged nothing whatever. 

“ Have you heard anybody speak about it? ” he 
asked, trying to conceal his anxiety under a 
superficial nonchalance. 

“Not a person,” responded Hal. “You can 
be sure old Colonel Conger won’t do anything. 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 131 

He’ll just think some hoboes were having some 
fun. It won’t take him long to forget the whole 
affair.” 

Before Hal, Peter managed to look completely 
unconcerned. All the while, however, his memory 
was vividly recalling the scene when Colonel 
Conger had picked up the lost note-book and 
smiled grimly. Peter had reason to believe that 
no hobo would be suspected. 

As he quietly withdrew and went slowly back 
to his home, Peter thought the matter over. 
“ He must be playing with me,” he said to him¬ 
self. “ He’s probably waiting now to see what I’m 
going to do,—whether I’m going to bring back the 
tail myself or wait for him to speak.” Suddenly 
a new idea came to his mind,—why not forestall 
the old gentleman and confess everything to him? 
At once he imagined himself walking up the long 
path from the street to the Congers’ front porch, 
and he shivered involuntarily. Still he lingered 
over the plan, considering it from many different 
angles. When he reached the house, he went to 
the kitchen for a glass of milk and some fresh- 
fried doughnuts. There it was that he made a re¬ 
solve to tell the whole story to Colonel Conger. 
“ He can’t do any more than tell Dad,” thought 


T 


132 PETER HAD COURAGE 

Peter; “ and anything is better than waiting to 
see what’s going to happen.” 

Of his own accord Peter went up to his room 
and put on a white shirt and a clean starched col¬ 
lar,—an act which might have alarmed his mother 
if she had been a witness of it, but luckily she 
was occupied at that moment in the kitchen. 
Then, with the iron tail neatly concealed in the 
inside pocket of his coat, he mounted his bicycle 
and rode unconcernedly oh down the street, tak¬ 
ing a roundabout route by the race-track and the 
railroad station so that he would not be observed 
by inquisitive friends. Coming down Norcross 
Avenue from the opposite end of the village, he 
soon reached the conspicuous Conger Mansion, 
with its smooth, green lawn behind the spiked 
fence. As Peter dismounted and leaned his bi¬ 
cycle against a post, he was seriously tempted to 
run off without performing his errand. When he 
glanced casually at the great mastiff standing 
there so haughtily, he felt that his owner would 
never condone what he had done to mar the dog’s 
symmetry. 

Peter’s feet dragged slowly up the granolithic 
sidewalk to the imposing entrance, with its heavy 
white pillars and massive portico. Even when 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 133 


he had actually rung the bell, looking utterly mis¬ 
erable as he did so, he was on the point of break¬ 
ing all his good resolutions and vanishing around 
the side of the house. “ Coward! ” he muttered 
to himself. “ Take a brace, can’t you? ” And 
just then the door opened, and Colonel Conger 
himself appeared,—a straight-backed man of 
military bearing, with a moustache and little Van 
Dyck beard of fiery red and a whimsical expres¬ 
sion on his face. He had been a sergeant in Colo¬ 
nel Roosevelt’s Rough Riders at San Juan Hill 
during the Spanish War, and this record had 
enabled him to secure a commission as Colonel 
in the Quartermaster Corps during the World 
War. His income being ample for his needs, he 
had settled down to a life of scholarly reading and 
research in his library, being commonly supposed 
to be engaged on a History of Deepwater , with 
Notes on its Founders. As he stood in the door¬ 
way, with a pipe in his hand, he looked a little 
puzzled at the frightened figure before him,— 
whom he did not at once recognize. 

“ Why, hello, young fellow,” he said, in a deep 
rich voice which seemed to come out of some cav¬ 
ern. “ What can I do for you? Will you come 
in? ” The tone was kindly enough, but it rolled 


134 PETER HAD COURAGE 

out from so great a height and Colonel Conger 
looked so burly that Peter’s timidity increased. 

“ Please, sir—please, sir- I—I—that is,” 

here Peter faltered for a second and then, en¬ 
couraged by the Colonel’s pleasant eyes, went on, 
“ I want to bring this back to you.” Fumbling 
inside his coat, he took out a package wrapped 
in a newspaper and held it out, while his eyes 
filled with tears. There he stood, waiting for his 
doom. 

“ What in the world is this? ” asked Colonel 
Conger, much puzzled, as he took the parcel and 
unwrapped it. Then, as he examined the con¬ 
tents, comprehension came to him. “ Why, where 
did you pick this up? ” he inquired. “ It’s the 
tail of our Fido, isn’t it? ” 

“ Ye-ye-ye-yes, sir, it is,” stuttered Peter. “ I 
broke it off last night,—and—and—and I thought 
I’d bring it back and tell you about it. We didn’t 
mean to bust it, sir, only the dog wouldn’t lift 
up,—and,—here’s all the money I’ve got, sir, to 
put it back again.” Peter handed out a small 
purse to Colonel Conger, and then broke down 
completely. 

He fumbled in his trousers pocket for a hand¬ 
kerchief to dry his tears, but none was available. 



THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 135 

The older man, seeing his predicament, drew out 
his own of white silk and let him have it. 

“ Look here, my boy,” he said, putting a large 
friendly hand on Peter's shoulder. “ You come 
in my study and we'll discuss this affair a little 
in solemn conclave.'' The still sobbing lad 
stepped inside, not forgetting to wipe his shoes 
on the mat as he had been taught by his mother 
to do, and soon found himself in a large cool 
room, lined with more books than Peter had ever 
seen at once. He sank into a huge leather 
chair so far that he was sure that he would 
go through the floor. When he had recovered 
sufficiently to be able to gaze at his surroundings, 
he saw Colonel Conger smiling at him from the 
sofa. The expression on the Colonel's counte¬ 
nance was so reassuring that the boy gradually 
dried his eyes and regained his composure. 

“ Let's see,” he said, “ you're Peter Wadsworth, 
the doctor's son, aren’t you? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I am." 

“ Your father and I are good friends. He often 
drops in here for a chat about books,” 

“ I'm awfully sorry, sir, that I tried to carry 
off your iron dog.” 

" Look here, my boy, I'll tell you a secret, only 


136 PETER HAD COURAGE 


you mustn’t breathe it to any one. You see Mrs. 
Conger has always liked that dog, and I’ve al¬ 
ways hated him. You’ve really done me a big 
service, for she said at breakfast that, now that 
the tail was broken off, we might as well have the 
remainder of the animal carried away; so, if we 
can keep her from finding this tail, I’ll be a happy 
man. Suppose we hide it somewhere.” He 
opened a deep drawer in his desk, and thrust the 
piece of metal as far back in as he could reach. 
“ There,” he said, “ nobody can possibly find that. 
We can both sleep easier now; only don’t you 
ever dare to let the secret out! ” 

Peter was incapable of speech! He was un¬ 
able to do more than gaze in bewilderment at 
Colonel Conger. Could he possibly be hearing 
correctly? 

“And now,” added his host, “ we’re partners in 
crime! And I feel that I ought to reward you for 
what you’ve done to get rid of that foolish looking 
lawn decoration. Look here, suppose you take 
this silver dollar and buy yourself some fireworks 
for to-night. There must be something you need, 
isn’t there? ” 

Peter stared at the shining circle in Colonel 
Conger’s hand. “ Why,” he protested, “ you don’t 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 137 


understand, I guess! That was a mean trick that 
I did when I tried to carry off your dog! I don’t 
deserve anything as a reward. Instead I ought 
to be shut up and fined for damaging your prop¬ 
erty. Don’t you see, sir? ” He looked as if 
there might be another outburst of tears. 

“ Oh, don’t have that on your mind, Peter. 
It’s what any high-spirited boy is likely to do on 
exciting occasions. I’ve done many worse things 
myself. And I’m proud of you because you came 
and owned up. Not one boy in a hundred would 
have done that.” 

Peter silently took the silver dollar and looked 
up at the Colonel with affection and admiration 
in his eyes. 

“ You’re a brick, sir! ” he stammered. “ I’d just 
like to hear any of the kids say anything mean 
about you! I’d hammer him! ” 

To this obviously sincere compliment, even 
Colonel Conger could make no suitable reply. 
He did, however, press a button and asked the 
servant who appeared to bring some cakes and 
ginger ale. In a few minutes a tray was placed 
at Peter’s elbow on which he saw all sorts of del¬ 
icacies; and the boy, rubbing his eyes with his 
knuckles, soon forgot all his troubles in the en- 


138 PETER HAD COURAGE 

joyment of an amazing chocolate cake with pink 
frosting. Soon he was chatting away quite un¬ 
embarrassed, answering the Colonel’s queries and 
propounding some of his own. 

When the boy, with an appetite which made 
his host envious, had devoured six cakes and two 
bottles of ginger ale, the Colonel said, “ Now, 
don’t you worry about that old dog. You come 
along in three or four days and you’ll see that he 
has disappeared,—banished to some dump heap. 
And then you’ll know that you did me a mighty 
good turn in helping me to get rid of him. And 
don’t you ever dare, under penalty of twenty 
years in Sing Sing, to tell Mrs. Conger or anybody 
else where that tail is now! ” 

As Colonel Conger was ushering him out the 
door, Peter stopped, looked up at him, and said, 
“ I’ll never forget, sir, how kind and forgiving you 
have been.” He was no longer a timid and fear¬ 
ful little boy, but a worshipper turning to his idol 
and trying to express his gratitude. It was a 
very gay and care-free Peter who waved a fare¬ 
well to the Colonel from the street and rode off at 
top speed on his bicycle. No longer was he 
ashamed to look his friends in the eyes. He 
waved a casual greeting to Patsy Fry, the con- 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 189 


stable, as he passed him in the square. When he 
rejoined his companions in the park, he had re¬ 
gained all his customary exuberance. His unu¬ 
sual holiday attire made him the butt of some 
coarse raillery, but he endured it all good-na¬ 
turedly. 

“ I wonder what that old dub, Conger, is going 
to do about his dog? ” asked Beady, quite in¬ 
nocently, when they were lying on the grass rest¬ 
ing from their game of “ shinny.” 

Peter sat up at once, and addressed his friend. 
“ Look here, Beady,” he said impressively. 
“ That gentleman’s name is Colonel Conger while 
I’m around, and don’t you forget it. Whoever 
makes fun of him has got to settle with me.” 

“ Gosh! ” murmured the startled Beady. 
“ What’s the old,—I mean what’s the Colonel 
done for you? He hasn’t handed you a thousand 
dollars, has he? Why this sudden rushing to his 
defense? ” 

Peter made no reply, and the subject was not 
pursued further, either then or at any later date, 
for Peter’s attitude did not encourage discussion ; 
instead he and Gige went home to luncheon, at 
which his mother was worried about his poor ap¬ 
petite, little realizing on what sugary viands her 


140 PETER HAD COURAGE 

son had been feeding. When, a few days after¬ 
wards, the familiar iron dog disappeared, pedestal 
and all, the Followers of Deerfoot commented on 
the news, but still Peter, in spite of questions, 
only looked mysterious and said nothing. Not 
until long afterwards did he tell the full story to 
his father and mother. 

Meanwhile he allowed himself to speculate on 
some interesting problems. “ I sure am glad that 
I wasn't afraid to go to Colonel Conger and tell 
him what I had done! If I hadn't owned up, he 
might have set the constable on me. Honesty is 
the best policy, all right! But it wouldn't have 
been decent, anyhow, not to have confessed. No 
matter whether you get cakes and ginger ale and 
a silver dollar or not, it’s better to face the music. 
Somehow you feel cleaner inside." In education, 
actual experience is worth pages of talk! 


CHAPTER VII 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 

About four miles to the south of Deepwater, 
part way up a high hill and well back from the 
highway to Bridgeton, stood the deserted Merrill 
House, always an object of interest to the older 
inhabitants of the vicinity. Sometimes on their 
wanderings after birds’ eggs or on fishing expedi¬ 
tions to Gorton Lake, Peter and the other Fol¬ 
lowers of Deerfoot had ridden by it on their bi¬ 
cycles and had looked fearfully up its driveway 
to the crumbling chimneys just visible through 
the trees. Around it everything was decay and 
desolation: the grass was sprinkled with weeds 
and never mowed, even for hay; the gnarled ap¬ 
ple and pear trees had not been trimmed for 
many years; the house itself, with its broken win¬ 
dows and falling shingles, looked hardly habit¬ 
able, even for tramps. Everybody in the Deep¬ 
water school was sure that the place was haunted, 
and there were few farmers who cared to drive 
past it after dark. 


141 


142 PETER HAD COURAGE 


Once, in a reminiscent mood, Dr. Wadsworth 
had told Peter and Gige the dramatic story of 
this miserable farmhouse. Twenty years before, 
when he had first settled in Deepwater, a band of 
desperadoes, commonly called the “ Loomis 
Gang ” because most of them belonged to that 
iamily, had terrorized the surrounding country. 
It was known that they had their headquarters 
:n the Nine-Mile Swamp, a great tract of boggy 
woodland which stretched along the valley. No 
roads crossed it, and it was reputed to be impas¬ 
sable because of the marshes which were scat¬ 
tered through it, ready to swallow up the unwary 
explorer. Once Dr. Wadsworth had seen a wild¬ 
cat which had been shot at the edge of this wil¬ 
derness ; but only the most venturesome of hunt¬ 
ers and trappers ever wandered far into its mys¬ 
terious depths. From this forbidding rendezvous, 
the outlaws, headed by their notorious leader, 
Plum Loomis, would emerge at uncertain inter¬ 
vals to steal the horses of the neighboring farm¬ 
ers, sending off their plunder by a secret route 
across the border to Canada to be sold. Plum, 
according to Dr. Wadsworth, was a little insig¬ 
nificant-looking old man, with a grey goatee and 
a queer trick of twisting the corners of his mouth 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 143 

as he chewed tobacco. He was not at all an awe¬ 
inspiring personality on the rare occasions when 
he appeared in Deepwater to buy provisions or 
get his mail. 

One of the Loomis girls,—usually called “ Sis,” 
—actually attended school in Deepwater for a 
time, until it was discovered that she was carry¬ 
ing off, concealed skilfully on her person, the 
clothes and jewelry of her mates. The gang itself, 
however, seemed disposed to leave Deepwater 
alone, but finally, on a dark autumn night, some 
of the more daring members rode into the village, 
broke into two stores, and made off with several 
thousand dollars’ worth of property. 

This was too much for the patience of the 
Deepwater citizens. On the next afternoon a 
posse, headed by young Sheriff Scanlon, was 
formed to drive the bandits from their lair. A 
group of adventurous spirits joined the vigi¬ 
lantes, including young “ Doc ” Wadsworth, then 
unmarried, and Hal’s father, “ Rob ” Webster, 
who was then Town Clerk and just starting on 
his political career. Armed with revolvers and 
shotguns and riding the best horses that the com¬ 
munity could furnish, they penetrated into the 
very heart of the swamp, surprised the women,— 


144 PETER HAD COURAGE 


who were like gypsies,—and regained a consid¬ 
erable portion of the stolen booty. As Dr. Wads¬ 
worth described it, it was much like the attack on 
the Doone Valley, in Blackmore’s romance Lorna 
Doom, one of Peter’s favorites. The sheriff and 
his party burned the rough wooden shacks to the 
ground. Meanwhile the robbers themselves had 
scattered, and many of them escaped. Old Plum 
Loomis, however, dashed out of one of the burn¬ 
ing sheds and rode away on his white horse, pur¬ 
sued by Sheriff Scanlon and a few of his com¬ 
rades. The bandit leader, finding that his animal 
was lame and could go no farther, turned in at 
the Merrill House, then occupied by his sister, 
“ Meg ” Merrill. As he reached the veranda., he 
wheeled about and fired his pistol, killing the 
sheriff instantly. Before he could shoot again, 
the others were upon him, and he was soon bound 
fast. 

So angry were the members of the posse at the 
death of the sheriff that they resolved to execute 
Plum on the spot. Putting a halter around his 
neck, they stood him on a box under an apple- 
tree and threw the rope over the limb above. 
Then and there, with “ Rob ” Webster presiding, 
they held an impromptu trial, called witnesses, 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 145 


and pronounced the victim “ Guilty! ” The self- 
appointed judge then declared the prisoner sen¬ 
tenced to death. Of the events which followed, 
Dr. Wadsworth had been an eye-witness, and he 
told the tale most effectively. 

“ Make your last speech if you have anything 
to say for yourself/' said Webster, “ for you're 
going to pay the penalty now for all your evil 
deeds.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Plum, polite as always, gaz¬ 
ing watchfully around on the crowd of which he 
was the central figure, “ I have just one word to 
speak. Me and my kin have got red blood in our 
veins. Give us a war, and we'd all be colonels 
and generals,—and you know it! In peace-time 
we've got to have action. String me up if you 
want to. I'm sorry I killed your sheriff, but 
you'll get no whimper from me. I'm an old man, 
anyhow, and I guess I’ve lived out my days.” 

As he finished, two of the vigilantes kicked the 
box away, and the soul of Plum Loomis went to 
meet its Maker. The bodies of Sheriff Scanlon 
and the outlaw murderer were carried back to 
Deepwater, and the courts never investigated the 
illegal execution of the bandit chief. Eventually 
the entire gang, their leader gone, dispersed: two 


146 PETER HAD COURAGE 

or three were captured and served sentences in 
the penitentiary; others fled to Canada or escaped 
to the Far West; a few repented of their crimes 
and settled down to quiet lives on farms in the 
adjacent counties. But never, so far as neighbors 
could tell, had any Loomis ever come back to the 
Merrill farm. Mrs. Merrill, who was a widow 
living alone, was gone on the day after the killing, 
and no one had ever seen her since. 

Thus it was that the house had stood there sea¬ 
son after season, enjoying an evil reputation 
which prevented even sneak thieves from break¬ 
ing in. No one had rented it. No one had in¬ 
vestigated the title. Once Dr. Wadsworth, pass¬ 
ing in his Dodge sedan one Sunday afternoon, 
turned up the grass-grown driveway before his 
wife could protest and pointed out to the boys 
the limb to which Plum Loomis had been sus¬ 
pended. 

“ The farmers have a wild yarn that the tree 
has never borne any apples since,” he observed, 
“ but it’s covered with buds now. I have an idea 
that there will be plenty of fruit on it in the fall.” 

“ Ugh! ” said Mrs. Wadsworth with a shudder. 
“ I shouldn’t want to eat any of it.” 

“ I should,” put in Peter emphatically, al- 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 147 

though he was then only a child. “And now, 
Daddy, show us the place where Sheriff Scanlon 
was killed.” 

Dr. Wadsworth then had to point out the exact 
spot where the murdered sheriff dropped lifeless 
from his horse, and the little boys tried to find 
stains of blood on the ground, although the rains 
and snows of many years had washed away all 
traces of the crime. The visit made a lasting ap¬ 
peal to the imaginations of the young Wads¬ 
worths, and they often referred to it as they grew 
older. 

On a Saturday in late September, a few months 
after Peter’s adventure with Colonel Conger, a 
little party, consisting of Peter, Gige, Beady, and 
Jack Goodhue, had started off early in the morn¬ 
ing to hunt for woodchucks or rabbits or even 
humble chipmunks with air-rifles. They had 
eaten their lunch at Gorton Lake, and, on their 
walk back, had stopped to rest for a moment at 
the foot of the long slope leading to the Merrill 
House. The morning had been sunny and bright, 
but dark clouds had appeared about noon, and the 
afternoon was grey and a little chilly. 

“ Let’s go up and see whether there really are 
any apples on that tree,” suggested Peter, ex- 


148 PETER HAD COURAGE 

plaining to Beady and Jack the weird legend 
about the limb on which Plum Loomis was 
hanged. 

“ Oh, Peter, let’s not go there now! ” protested 
Gige. “ There may be all sorts of spooks around, 
and ghosts don’t like to be interfered with.” 

“ Spooks your eye! ” ejaculated Peter, to whom 
a little opposition invariably served as a stimulus. 
“ Who’s afraid? If you want to go back home, 
trot ahead! You know the road, every inch of 
it. I’m going to look that house over if I have 
to do it all alone.” 

“ I’m with you, Peter,” said Beady. “ You 
can’t scare me,—not by a long shot! ” 

“ Me, too! ” added Jack Goodhue, the youngest 
of the group. 

“Shucks! I’m not afraid,” said Gige. “Only 
if you get into any trouble, don’t blame me. I’m 
coming along, and I’ll bet I’m not the first man 
to run. Wait and see! ” 

Peter’s reassuring air of intrepidity was partly 
assumed for the occasion. As the Grand Sachem 
of the Followers of Deerfoot, he could not, of 
course, allow his courage to be questioned. But 
it must not be inferred that he felt entirely at 
ease as he reached the driveway and turned in at 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 149 


the left, his faithful companions at his heels. 
Somehow the day seemed to get darker and the 
clouds more sombre as he approached the house 
itself. In spite of his plucky self-control, he had 
cold shivers up and down his spine, and discon¬ 
certing tales of ghosts and goblins came vaguely 
to his mind. But, like many another leader of 
men, he strengthened his resolution to meet the 
emergency and kept on, hoping that he seemed 
outwardly unperturbed,—as indeed he did seem 
to be. 

Jack and Beady soon acknowledged that Peter 
had not at all exaggerated the desolation of the 
Merrill House. Hardly a pane of glass was left 
intact; one end of the piazza had fallen in, and 
shingles from the roof were scattered over the 
ground; goldenrod and fireweed were growing 
right up to the front door. 

“ Heavens! What’s that? ” suddenly cried 
Gige, and started to run. A clumsy black crea¬ 
ture scuttled through the thick grass in front of 
them and vanished under the barn. 

“ Come back here, you boob! ” called Peter. 
“ It’s nothing but a stupid hedgehog. There used 
to be hundreds of them up at Lake Woodhull. 
They always live around deserted houses and 


150 PETER HAD COURAGE 


lumber camps. They’re about as dangerous as a 
baby rabbit! ” 

“ He’ll throw his spikes at us,” protested Gige, 
still hovering in the driveway ready to beat a re¬ 
treat. 

“That’s all a yarn! They can’t throw their 
spikes at all. Besides they always run away if 
you make a motion. Last summer our dog, Echo, 
—the one that was run over this spring before 
we got Rip,—tried to eat one of them for break¬ 
fast, and the poor pup got filled with prongs. 
That’s what you’re thinking of. But even that 
wouldn’t have happened if the fool dog hadn’t 
jumped right on top of the hedgehog. You’re 
not going to do that, I hope.” 

Gige came slowly back, not quite certain 
whether Peter was telling the truth or not, but 
somewhat reassured by the calm attitude of Jack 
Goodhue. Peter kept his air-rifle in readiness, 
and soon, seeing another rustle in the grass near 
a pile of boards, took aim and fired. The others, 
not including Gige, rushed up, and there, sure 
enough, was a small porcupine, which Peter had 
killed with a lucky bullet. After waiting to see 
whether the animal made any movement, Peter 
gave him a defiant and contemptuous kick. 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 151 

“ Guess he won’t trot around much more and 
scare little boys,” he said, smiling at Gige. 
“ Come on! Let’s have a look at the apple-tree.” 

As they walked to the spot where the notorious 
Plum Loomis had once paid the penalty for his 
misdemeanors, Peter could see that the tree was 
loaded with reddening fruit,—evidently a variety 
of early apple. He looked up at the large limb, 
perhaps nine or ten feet from the ground, from 
which, according to his father’s story, the outlaw 
had once dangled 

“ Hello! ” cried Peter ecstatically, “ there’s an 
old piece of rope in plain sight.” 

The others crowded up to investigate. There, 
adhering to the rough bark, was what undoubt¬ 
edly had once been a section of heavy tarred rope. 
It was probably not part of the original noose, 
but to the boys it was quite satisfactory as an 
exhibit, and their nerves were all on edge. 

“ Look,” said Beady pointing up. “ Can’t you 
see ripe apples on the very limb where old Plum 
died? ” 

“ I dare anybody to eat one of them! ” said 
Jack, a trifle timidly. 

“ Why not? ” inquired Peter in his most scorn¬ 
ful manner; and, accepting the implied challenge, 


152 PETER HAD COURAGE 


he shinnied up the trunk and crawled out on the 
fatal branch. “ Look here, I’m going to give you 
some.” He threw down some of the red-streaked 
fruit to those below, and then sat dangling his 
feet right over the spot where Plum must have 
swung and biting into an apple as if such experi¬ 
ences were mere matters of every-day routine with 
him. A brief tasting convinced the hungry youth 
that the execution of the bandit had not helped 
the quality of the fruit. It was sour and bitter 
to the taste, and he was glad to throw it aside 
after a few mouthfuls. As he sat perched in the 
air, Peter recounted the details of the story again 
for the benefit of an appreciative audience, until 
he made them shudder by the realism of his nar¬ 
rative. 

“ Let’s have a glance inside,” suggested Beady, 
in a tone which indicated a touch of bravado. 
Peter’s tantalizing courage had inspired Beady to 
a rivalry in audacity. 

“ Hadn’t we better go along home? ” asked 
Gige, pointing to a black bank of clouds. 
“ There’s some kind of a fierce storm coming, and 
we’re liable to get wet.” 

“What difference does that make?” objected 
Peter, not to be outdone by any assertive com- 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 153 


petitor like Beady. “ If it’s really a hard down¬ 
pour, we can stay here all night.” 

Jack Goodhue took no part in the conversation. 
If he had dared, he would have deserted the party 
then and there, but he was not exactly sure of 
the road home. And so he metaphorically gritted 
his teeth and followed Peter as that unflinching 
adventurer dropped from his seat on the apple- 
tree limb and led the way to the front door of the 
house. It was locked! Then they experimented 
with one or two of the windows, but they had 
evidently been fastened on the inside. 

“ Let’s have a look around back,” suggested 
Peter. “ Perhaps something is open there.” But 
all the windows at the rear were closed in the 
same fashion. It did seem a bit absurd to have 
the window frames locked when all the panes of 
glass were shattered. 

“Well, there’s only one sure method of en¬ 
trance, and that’s to crawl through some of this 
glass,” Peter concluded. Picking out a window 
opening into what had once been the kitchen, he 
broke the sash with a well-directed blow from a 
stone and then crept gingerly through the jagged 
edges. Once inside, he unfastened the lock and 
lifted the window for the others to enter in a 


154 PETER HAD COURAGE 

less perilous way. Jack, who brought up the 
rear, would have relinquished a whole month’s 
allowance if only he could have been safe at 
home. 

“My, what a lot of furniture!” exclaimed 
Beady. “ There’s a perfectly good stove still 
here in the kitchen and a pile of dishes over 
there in the closet. It looks as if somebody was 
keeping house here even now. Keep your eyes 
open, fellows, for trouble! ” 

“ Maybe ghosts have to eat,” said Beady in a 
sepulchral voice which made Jack and Gige 
tremble at the thought. 

With Peter at the head, the four boys strolled 
excitedly through the rooms, discovering new 
treasures in each and stopping here and there to 
point out to each other the attractiveness of a 
chair or a picture. It certainly looked as if the 
former residents had been suddenly driven forth, 
by pestilence or fright, and had never cared to 
return to claim their own. Now and then Peter 
would open a closet or pull out a bureau drawer 
merely to gratify an innocent curiosity. 

As they were investigating one of the up-stairs 
bedrooms,—a large square chamber with a great 
double bed, evidently once occupied by the 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 155 


owner,—Gige, reaching carelessly back into the 
deep drawer of a roll-top desk, struck something 
hard with his fingers. 

“ Look here! ” he cried. “ Here’s something 
that feels like a wooden box! ” 

Drawing it out from its place of concealment, 
he carried it over to the window, where the others 
gathered round to inspect the find. It was a 
small, oblong case, about five inches by eight, 
neatly made of some kind of light-colored wood 
and with some carved figures on the top. There 
was a key in the lock, and, opening it, Gige lifted 
the cover. Much to his disgust, it was filled, not 
with gorgeous jewels or Spanish doubloons, as he 
had hoped, but with old papers, which he re¬ 
jected at a glance as worthless. “ I might have 
known that nobody would have left anything 
valuable in a desk drawer,” he said, as he de¬ 
posited the box contemptuously on the table and 
turned to something else. 

Peter picked it up after him, took out a few 
of the documents inside, and examined them 
closely. Then he went nearer the light, where he 
could look at them more carefully. 

“ See here! ” he said excitedly. “ There are 
some mighty queer-looking stamps on some of 


156 PETER HAD COURAGE 

these envelopes, and I shouldn’t be surprised if a 
few were very rare. I’m going to take these 
home and have Moms find out what their value 
is. They aren’t ordinary issues, I’m sure of that. 
Maybe we’ve got a treasure after all.” Peter 
had been a stamp collector for some years, aided 
and abetted by his mother, to whom philately 
and genealogy were not merely hobbies, but 
passions. 

“ Here, those are mine,” objected Gige, who 
had heard Peter’s remarks and was now more 
eager to claim what he had just discarded as 
worthless. “I found ’em, didn’t I?” 

“ I’m not going to keep them,” explained Peter. 
“You can have whatever money they bring. 
But I’ll just leave them in my pocket safe until 
we can show them to Mother. She’ll be inter¬ 
ested, all right.” He shoved the package of old 
papers inside his coat, and the party continued 
on their tour of exploration. 

When they had finished the second story and 
the attic,—which was dark and full of rats,—they 
returned to the kitchen, where Beady’s sharp eyes 
spied a door in the corner back of the stove. He 
opened it and cried, “ Come here, Peter. Look 
how dark it is down there! I wonder if there’s 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 157 


anything worth hunting for in the cellar? Maybe 
there’s a skeleton buried in the floor! I dare you 
to go down, Peter! ” 

“Dare yourself!” was Peter’s reply. “I’ve 
never let anybody stump me yet! ” Without 
further preliminaries or debate, he began the 
descent, feeling his way bit by bit while the 
others cautioned him from above. He had gone 
only two or three steps when he uttered a startled 
cry; there was the noise of cracking wood, and, 
in a second r a dull thud on the floor below. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” inquired Gige anxiously. 
“Are you hurt, Peter? ” 

“ Oh! ” groaned a voice from below. “ How my 
leg hurts! And I can’t seem to move it at all! 
I guess it must be busted! ” He moaned again 
as if in agony. 

“ Wait a minute and I’ll be with you,” said 
Gige, starting down to assist his brother. 

“Don’t do that, you fool! ” said Beady, hold¬ 
ing him back by the coat-tail. “ There’ll only be 
two of you hurt instead of one. There must be 
some other better way of entering the cellar. 
You wait here while Jack and I go outside and 
have a look.” 

Beady and Jack unbolted the kitchen door and 


158 PETER HAD COURAGE 


rushed out. To their left was a bulkhead, ap¬ 
parently leading under the house. By dint of 
some tugging and more pounding with stones, 
they managed to knock out the staple and lift the 
door up, thus throwing some light into the cellar 
where Peter was lying. They could see at a 
glance what had happened. The stairs had 
rotted away and Peter had dropped some eight 
feet to a stone floor, his leg doubling under 
him in such a way that it had apparently been 
sprained or broken. 

“ You’ll have to carry me, I guess, fellows,” 
said Peter, in a rather plaintive tone, as he raised 
himself up on his elbows. “ That leg hurts like 
the dickens! ” Gige meanwhile had joined them, 
and the three lifted him up so that he could move 
along resting on the shoulders of Beady and 
Gige, his injured leg dangling helplessly. With 
this assistance he finally reached the piazza steps, 
where they all stopped to consider what it was 
best to do. 

In the excitement of the last few minutes, no¬ 
body had paid much attention to the ugly black 
clouds which had been massing in the south. 
Autumn thunder-storms are rare in central New 
Y ork, but occasionally there is one of exceptional 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 159 


severity. Now, as Peter leaned against a post, 
there was a sharp flash of lightning, followed by 
a peal of thunder which reverberated sonorously 
among the surrounding hills. 

“ Wow! ” said Peter, as his leg gave a sharp 
twinge. “ We’re going to have a cloudburst! We 
ought not to try to move anywhere until this is 
over. Let’s get back in a corner here and watch 
what’s doing.” 

The smaller boys now brought out two chairs, 
in one of which Peter could sit while his injured 
leg rested on the seat of the other; and they 
awaited, with some trepidation, the beginning of 
the downpour. 

“ I’d rather be here than inside, anyhow,” said 
Jack Goodhue, his voice not altogether firm. 
The flashes were now intensely bright, and the 
thunder was like crashes of artillery. 

“ I’m wondering what Moms will think,” said 
Gige, looking at his wrist-watch. “ It’s almost six 
o’clock now, and we are due back for dinner at 
six-thirty.” 

“ Oh, Dad’s got plenty of common sense,” re¬ 
plied Peter. “ He’ll know that we went in some¬ 
where to seek shelter from the rain.” 

“ But how can we ever manage to take you 


160 PETER HAD COURAGE 

home at all? ” asked Beady, as a zigzag streak of 
fire illumined the landscape. 

“ Just get me down to the main highway and 
wait for a car to come along,—that is, when the 
storm is over. Or one of you can trot along to 
the nearest house and telephone. Then Dad or 
Mother will drive up after me. That part’s 
easy! But say, how that leg of mine does ache! ” 

The storm was now more impressive. Al¬ 
though it was long before sunset, it was almost 
as dark as if it had been midnight, and the boys 
could see only a few feet away from the piazza. 
Flash succeeded flash, rumble followed rumble, 
with a quickness which was ominous. Then there 
came a sudden stupefying calm. For a moment 
there was neither wind nor rain. Everything was 
silent, as if the motion of the earth had ceased. 
Then, with terrific violence, a tornado descended! 
There was one blinding flash which turned the 
whole sky into flame, and a grinding crash as if 
the forest were falling—and afterwards a gust of 
wind which nearly blew the boys from their seats. 
They shrank far back into the corner of the 
piazza, huddling together through a terror which 
no one cared to dissemble except Peter. Gige 
was honestly and unaffectedly in tears. Jack was 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 161 


clinging in desperation to Beady, who, in his 
turn, kept murmuring, “ We’ll never get out of 
this! ” Only Peter, in spite of his pain, en¬ 
deavored to cheer his comrades by saying, “ It’s 
almost over now, fellows. We’re through the 
worst of it! ” 

He was right. The onslaught of the storm was 
as brief as it had been alarming. Lighter streaks 
slowly appeared in the darker clouds, and the 
rain, which had never been heavy at any time, 
slackened to a mere drizzle. Soon the boys could 
see through the mist that the apple-tree where 
Peter had been sitting only a short period before 
had been shattered by a bolt of lightning. The 
very limb from which Plum Loomis’s body had 
dangled was broken off from the trunk and was 
lying on the ground only a few feet from the 
piazza. They must have had a very narrow 
escape from being struck. 

And they were still in a most unpleasant situa¬ 
tion. Peter, whose leg was throbbing with pain, 
could hardly restrain himself from moaning 
aloud; yet he knew that, if he did, the others 
might lose their nerve. When the rain had 
ceased, he looked at his watch,—it was nearly 
seven o’clock, long past the Wadsworth dinner 


162 PETER HAD COURAGE 

hour. His mother, as he was well aware, would 
be much worried, and he was eager to relieve her 
anxiety. Just then a cloud lifted in the west, and 
a glow of color appeared to cheer him up. Crip¬ 
pled though he was, he took command by sheer 
force of will, and gave instructions as to how he 
was to be carried to the road. Obediently Beady 
and Gige bent over while he put his arms around 
their shoulders. Then, leaning on them as much 
as he dared, he moved along very slowly, rest¬ 
ing often against trees or fences, until they all 
reached the highway. 

“ Now I’m absolutely all right,” he said. 
“ Jack can stay here with me to keep me com¬ 
pany while you two go along until you meet 
somebody in a car or come to a farmhouse. If 
you telephone to Dad, just tell him I have 
sprained my ankle and need a ride home. Don’t 
you dare, whatever you do, to say I’ve broken 
my leg, or Mother will be worried sick.” 

So Beady and Gige ran off at top speed, leaving 
Peter and Jack behind, the latter resting against 
a large boulder by the side of the road. Peter 
divided with Jack the large slab of milk-choco¬ 
late which he regularly carried on such expedi¬ 
tions, and they waited patiently, Peter being 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 163 


careful not to indicate in any way to Jack how 
excruciatingly painful his leg was getting to be. 
At last, when Peter’s watch showed half-past 
seven and the twilight was slowly deepening into 
night, Beady’s form appeared in the dusk. 

“ Your father will be here very soon, I think,” 
he said. “ Say, but it was a long trip to a house, 
—pretty near a mile, I guess! And then we had 
to explain exactly where you were, and it took a 
good deal of time.” 

He had hardly finished this sentence before 
the Wadsworth family Dodge could be heard 
pounding up the hill in second speed, having 
covered the four miles from Deepwater at a speed 
which broke all the State laws. Both Dr. Wads¬ 
worth and his wife were there, the latter having 
insisted on coming. When the physician recog¬ 
nized Peter by the side of the road, he stopped 
his car and leaped out, followed by Mrs. Wads¬ 
worth with her husband’s medicine kit. 

“ My poor boy! ” she exclaimed rushing up to 
him and kissing him. “ Are you badly hurt? ” 

“ Not very much, Moms,—just a busted leg.” 
And then Peter Wadsworth did the unexpected. 
He fainted away, for the first time in his life. 

Dr. Wadsworth had first-aid measures with 


164 PETER HAD COURAGE 


him in his bag, and the lad, assisted by some 
spirits of ammonia, soon returned to conscious¬ 
ness,—not, however, until his mother had been 
nearly frightened into hysterics. Without trou¬ 
bling to make more than a cursory diagnosis, the 
physician lifted his patient into the rear seat, 
told the other lads to crawl in wherever they 
could find room, and ran back at a rate of forty 
miles an hour. In fifteen minutes after they 
reached home, Peter was comfortable in bed, with 
Dr. Wadsworth massaging the wounded leg. 

“ It looks to me as if you had broken two small 
bones, but Til be more certain after I’ve taken 
an X-ray/’ he declared, after his inspection. 
“ But they’ll heal all right.” 

“ Shall I ever be able to run again? ” inquired 
Peter, with an anxious look. 

“ Of course you will. You’ll be on your feet 
just as well as ever in two months. But you’ll 
have to lie quiet for a while to let the fractured 
bones knit thoroughly.” 

“ You’re a lucky pup,” said Gige to Peter 
later in the week, after Dr. Wadsworth’s prelim¬ 
inary diagnosis had been confirmed by the X-ray 
photograph and the bones had been set. “ Out 
of school and nothing to do but sit around in 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 165 


bed and eat jellies and ice-cream and read and 
sleep. What a cinch! ” 

“ Til swap places with you any time,” replied 
Peter. “ Do you think it's any fun to lie cooped 
up here while the football practice is going on? ” 

“ No, I suppose not. But then you won't have 
any studies to prepare.” 

“ Oh, no, not at all! ” answered Peter ironi¬ 
cally. “ I overheard Mother telling Dad that you 
can begin to-morrow morning bringing home my 
lessons to me. Then I'm to do them each day, 
and she's going to hear me recite. That's joyful 
news, isn't it? ” 

“ Well, that is tough, I'll admit, Peter! Seems 
to me they ought to let a fellow have a busted 
leg in peace without adding anything else to his 
misery.” 

On the morning after the accident, when Mrs. 
Wadsworth was folding Peter's clothes away, she 
noticed in the coat pocket a package of old en¬ 
velopes. 

“ What have you here? ” she asked, coming to 
the bedside with the discovery. 

“ Oh, I'd forgotten all about those. They're 
some old things that Gige came across in a desk 
drawer in the Merrill House. I remember that I 


166 PETER HAD COURAGE 


saw what looked to me like some rare stamps 
and so I brought them home to you. Probably 
you’ll think that I was foolish.” 

Mrs. Wadsworth glanced through the papers, 
which were tied together with a string. “ Why! ” 
she burst out, with elation in her tone. “ There 
are some wonderfully rare stamps here. I can 
tell that right away. Somebody who knows what 
stamps are made this collection, and most of 
them are valuable,—on the original envelopes, 
too! I’ll have to get out my catalogue to-night 
and see what they’re worth to a dealer. Here 
are four right off that we haven’t in our collec¬ 
tion. I wonder who can possibly have a claim on 
these? Somebody ran off and left behind a small 
fortune.” 

“ I don’t know. Of course Gige is the one who 

\ 

found them, and he deserves all the credit. He 
just turned them over to me to keep for him. 
Do you think that some descendant of the Loomis 
family will have a right to them? ” 

“ We’ll probably have to advertise, but I’m al¬ 
most certain that no one has lived in that house 
since Mrs. Merrill left there more than twenty 
years ago,—and she’s never been heard from 
since! ” 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 167 


That evening, in Peter’s bedroom, Mrs. Wads¬ 
worth spread her large dealer’s catalogue out on 
a table and went over the envelopes very sys¬ 
tematically. Back in the 1860’s somebody had 
made a practice of saving unusual stamps from 
various foreign countries, and it took her some 
time, even with the aid of Gige and Dr. Wads¬ 
worth, to make an itemized list of the rarer 
specimens. When she had checked them off, 
with the trade value after each,—occasionally 
pausing to express her delight at some excessively 
rare stamp,—she added up the total amount, 
which made $1,462. 

“ That can’t be, my dear,” said her husband, 
with the customary skepticism of those benighted 
persons who are unacquainted with stamp values. 
“ It’s ridiculous to say that those old postage 
stamps are worth as much as that.” 

“ Ridiculous or not, it happens to be a fact,” 
answered Mrs. Wadsworth, with a slight acidity 
in her voice, attributable, perhaps, to resentment 
at her husband’s scoffing tone. “ And the chances 
are that the price has risen since this catalogue 
was printed two years ago. There are some 
people who appreciate things like these, even if 
you don’t.” 


168 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ I hope that nobody comes along to put in a 
claim for these,” said Peter. 

“ We’ll have to do our best to find the owner,” 
replied Dr. Wadsworth. “ After all, we have no 
legitimate right to them.” 

With his usual scrupulous honesty, Dr. Wads¬ 
worth devoted himself assiduously to running 
down the owner of the package of envelopes. He 
consulted old residents, advertised in the Deep¬ 
water Gazette ,—published every Friday,—and 
then even went himself on a tour of investiga¬ 
tion through the Merrill House in quest of clues. 
He was able to ascertain that the title of the 
house itself rested with Mrs. Merrill still, but no 
taxes had been paid on it for more than twenty 
years, and the lady in question, according to 
those best informed, had died in Canada some 
time before, leaving no descendants. After at 
least six months of searching, Dr. Wadsworth ac¬ 
cepted the theory that the find was indeed 
“ treasure trove.” Mrs. Wadsworth, like a true 
enthusiast, would have liked to retain the rarer 
stamps in her own collection; but in the end she 
concluded that it would be foolish to do this, and 
she sold them to a dealer for $1,860. The money 
was placed in the bank to the credit of Peter and 


THE HAUNTED HOUSE 169 


George Wadsworth,—for Gige had insisted that 
the spoils should be divided with his brother. 
With the interest from this not inconsiderable 
fund, Mrs. Wadsworth allowed the boys from 
time to time to purchase certain articles which 
they wanted badly, such as a canoe on Lake 
Woodhull, new tennis rackets, and finally the 
luxury of a pony. 

“ Even if I did break my leg, that expedition 
paid for itself,” said Peter one day in November, 
when he was just commencing to get around on 
crutches. 

“ Yes, I fancy it did,” was his father’s answer. 
“And it ought to be valuable in teaching you 
not to investigate dark and unknown places 
without first looking them ove» with a flash¬ 
light.” 

“ Maybe that’s true,” admitted Peter. “ But 
the best lesson was not to be afraid of haunted 
houses. Most of the things we’re scared of turn 
out to be harmless, don’t they, Dad? ” 

“ That’s a profound and far-reaching truth, my 
son,” said Dr. Wadsworth. “ Some stupid people 
never learn it at all, and most of us don’t under¬ 
stand it until we’re old, and it’s too late. You’re 
lucky if you’ve learned it young! ” 


170 PETER HAD COURAGE 


It remains to be added that Peter’s leg was 
entirely healed by Christmas, and that he was 
snow-shoeing before the winter was over. But 
it was a long time before his dreams ceased to 
be haunted by the spectre of old Plum Loomis, 
dangling helplessly in mid-air while the lightning 
flashed upon his pallid face. 



CHAPTER VIII 


A MORAL ISSUE 

There are very few people in this world of 
ours for whom life is just one dramatic episode 
after another. Most of us lead rather common¬ 
place existences, fortunate if we can secure two 
or three thrills in a twelvemonth. Even soldiers 
in the regular army have long periods when no 
war is going on and they must drill monotonously 
through tedious hours; and we may be sure that 
Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, was not 
perpetually in quest of absconders and murderers. 
In dwelling at length on some spectacular inci¬ 
dents in the youthful careers of the Wadsworth 
boys, we may have created the impression that 
all their waking moments were crammed with ex¬ 
citement. As a matter of fact, there were often 
weeks when, as they complained to their unsym¬ 
pathetic parents, there was “ nothing to do.” 
And then, too, there was school,—school, which 
occupied almost three-fourths of the year and 
had its full share and more of irksome tasks and 

171 


172 PETER HAD COURAGE 

routine duties. To present a faithful picture of 
Peter’s boyhood, we must not omit some of the 
events which happened in the dingy brick school- 
house on the corner of White Street and Stafford 
Avenue, where Peter and Gige were pupils from 
September to June,—with time taken out for 
sickness and holidays. 

In school, as Peter knew it, there were all sorts 
of boys and girls. Some were industrious, and 
others were lazy. A few were shy and quiet, like 
Clarence Marvin, who never spoke unless he was 
spoken to and who blushed a radiant pink when 
any girl looked at him. Most of them were 
straightforward, but there were also those who 
were untrustworthy. It was precisely like any 
complex community of grown-ups, in which good 
and evil, meanness and generosity, were thrown 
together. Peter was early obliged to form his 
judgments regarding the personalities and the 
possibilities of the children around him. Some of 
them, like Beady Bennett and Hal Webster, he 
liked instinctively, recognizing half-unconsciously 
that they were of his own kind in background 
and breeding. To the girls he was supremely in¬ 
different, playing with them, of course, when 
courtesy demanded it, but otherwise not at- 


A MORAL ISSUE 


173 


tracted by them in the slightest. Rarely there 
would appear somebody whom Peter cordially 
disliked, usually for some coarse streak revealed 
in the close intimacy of the playground. 

Among those whom Peter had accepted as nat¬ 
ural enemies had been Mucker Wright,—but 
Mucker, after the fight, had shown himself to be 
a simple, guileless soul, whom no one could pos¬ 
sibly hate. Another was Shifty Pell, a thin- 
faced, sharp-nosed boy, with a slight cast in one 
eye, who resembled a ferret and was always ready 
to “ tell teacher ” when he could gain prestige by 
doing so. A third was our old acquaintance, Ikey 
Warren, who was still the leader of a gang of 
boys a year or more older than Peter. With 
his heavy awkward body and his raucous voice, 
he was a nuisance to his instructors, and he was 
always falling over benches or dropping things on 
the floor. In spite of his superior age, he was in 
the same class with Peter, and, being larger and 
stronger, took delight in tormenting him. If this 
were the sentimental type of school story, I 
should be compelled to describe the diminutive 
Peter as rising up like David and defeating the 
Goliath, Ikey, in a stand-up battle. But this is 
a true tale, and I am therefore obliged to confess 


174 PETER HAD COURAGE 


that, on the two or three occasions when Peter,— 
who had plenty of courage,—had fought back, he 
had been unmercifully beaten. Ninety pounds of 
nervous energy can do little to overcome a big 
hulk of approximately one hundred and forty 
pounds of bone and muscle. 

There is a legend to the effect that all bullies 
are cowards, and it may be generally true; but 
Ikey Warren was afraid of nothing. Although 
his chief pastime was annoying those younger 
and smaller than himself, he had never been 
known to run away from a fight, even with a 
much more powerful adversary. Indeed he had 
certain qualities of leadership which enabled him 
to gain a following, and there were always some 
smaller lads who attached themselves to him, 
glad to be his satellites and knowing that he 
would protect them just as a feudal lord in the 
middle ages looked out for his serfs. Whenever 
Peter was startled by an unexpected snowball in 
the back of the neck or tripped by a cord drawn 
across his path, he could be sure that Ikey War¬ 
ren had something to do with it,—for Ikey, like 
most bullies, was very fond of practical jokes. 

Once Ikey and his gang,—which included 
Charlie Webster, Leaky Terry, and Fatty Mor- 


A MORAL ISSUE 175 

ris, as well as some smaller lads,—caught Peter 
when he was off his guard and tossed him in a 
blanket, to the imminent danger of his life, but 
the victim of their fun had never whimpered nor 
begged for mercy. On another momentous occa¬ 
sion, when he was setting out for a party in his 
first long cream-colored flannel trousers, they had 
splashed mud on his immaculate garments until, 
in sheer rage and despair, he had rushed at them 
and dragged them down with him, to the ruin 
of his fine apparel. This was Ikey’s idea of 
amusement, and, needless to say, it made no ap¬ 
peal to Peter. Every once in a while Peter would 
defy the bully and strike back, only to have a 
circle formed for a fight; and he usually emerged 
with a bloody nose or a torn shirt. It is no won¬ 
der that Peter and his allies went around to¬ 
gether, making up a gang which even Ikey did 
not care to attack single-handed. Ikey had some 
discretion, and he could not forget the time when 
the Followers of Deerfoot had tied him up to a 
tree and tortured him until he had craved par¬ 
don for his sins. 

The Followers of Deerfoot were themselves far 
from being little angels. If there was any dis¬ 
turbance going on, they were likely to be partici- 


176 PETER HAD COURAGE 

pants in it, as Principal Harlow was well aware; 
and they were often detected and punished for 
their deviltry. “ Your boys,” said the Principal 
to Dr. Wadsworth at the Dalton Club one day, 
“ can think up more mischief than any four oth¬ 
ers in school, but I’ve never yet caught one of 
them in a lie. That’s why I can’t help liking 
them in spite of all they do.” 

“ Don’t have any pity on them,” Dr. Wads¬ 
worth replied. “ If they get into trouble, you’ll 
not find me interceding for them. They must 
take their punishment. They know that.” 

It was Peter, for one thing, who conceived the 
not altogether original idea of purloining the lab¬ 
oratory skeleton and hanging it conspicuously 
over the middle of Stafford Avenue on the morn¬ 
ing of Commencement Day; and it was he also 
who, under the Principal’s vigorous cross exami¬ 
nation, admitted his guilt and bore his punish¬ 
ment manfully. One of the Algebra teachers, 
Miss Arnold,—commonly called “ Benedict,” or 
“ Benny,” through an inevitable historical asso¬ 
ciation of names,—was the butt of many pranks. 
The boys would scribble doggerel on the black¬ 
board, describing some of the peculiarities of her 
physiognomy, and she would erase it sorrowfully 


A MORAL ISSUE 


177 


when she entered her classroom in the morning. 
Sometimes the tears would come to her eyes as 
she read the cruel things which they had writ¬ 
ten, but she would never report them to the 
Principal. Their failure to provoke a reaction was 
decidedly discouraging to the conspirators. 
“ What’s the use of bothering old Benny? ” 
Peter would ask. “ She never gets mad. She 
never scolds us. All she does is look grieved, and 
I can see that she is ready to cry. There’s no 
fun pestering a woman like that.” The conse¬ 
quence was that in the end Miss Arnold was left 
severely alone, through a conception of chivalry 
which she found it impossible to understand. 
And when two or three new boys tried to be 
“ fresh ” in her classes, Peter and his gang ad¬ 
ministered a form of treatment which compelled 
the culprits to appear before her one afternoon 
and apologize. 

“Why, boys, how manly of you!” she ex¬ 
claimed, evidently much pleased that their 
consciences had pricked them. “ What led you 
to come and beg my pardon?” 

“Well, Peter Wadsworth said he’d smash my 
face in if I didn’t,” confessed the spokesman of 
the three sinners in front of her. It was a naive 


178 PETER HAD COURAGE 


admission, and Miss Arnold hardly knew how to 
receive it, but she made some commonplace re¬ 
ply, smiling to think that the hitherto incor¬ 
rigible Peter had now become her defender. 
When she called him to her desk after school and 
thanked him for his intervention, Peter blushed 
and stammered, “ Pm sorry those kids told you 
that, Miss Arnold. But you’ve been mighty 
white to me, and I’m not going to have any of 
those smart alecks bothering you.” 

“ I’m proud to have your support,” said Miss 
Arnold. Then Peter, as embarrassed as if he had 
been the criminal, fled precipitately, glad to be 
freed from an interview which promised to be¬ 
come sentimental. 

On Friday afternoons during the Winter Term 
there was usually a program of so-called “ Decla¬ 
mation Exercises.” The boys and girls selected 
for the sacrifice, garbed in their richest attire, 
ascended the platform in the assembly hall and 
spoke “ pieces,” in the delivery of which they had 
been coached for weeks. It was a somewhat for¬ 
mal affair, always anticipated with pleasure by 
the audience. Principal Harlow, a young man 
only a year or two out of college, sat behind his 
desk on the right of the stage, twirling the long 


A MORAL ISSUE 179 

drooping moustaches which he had grown to make 
himself look dignified, with the other instructors, 
—all women except Mr. Peck, the first assistant, 
—seated stiffly in high-backed chairs at the left. 
It was an ordeal, not only for the speakers but 
also for the listeners, who were frequently thrown 
into gales of laughter by some peculiarity of one 
of the entertainers. When little “ Goldy ” Gold¬ 
berg, Peter’s friend, recited in a squeaky nasal 
voice a rhetorical farewell purporting to have 
been uttered by the Indian chieftain, Black 
Hawk, to his tribesmen, the boys could not re¬ 
strain their mirth. 

“ Ye all remember in how many hard-fought 
battles I have led you against our ancient foe, the 
pale-faces! ” declaimed Goldy, raising his right 
hand to heaven; whereupon Peter burst into a 
wild and involuntary guffaw, which was the signal 
for giggles all over the room. The Principal, as¬ 
suming his most forbidding manner, arose and 
reproved the audience for their discourtesy. But 
when Goldy attempted to begin again, he caught 
a glimpse of Peter’s seething countenance and 
was unable to do more than stand helpless, his 
mouth open in the broadest of grins. Needless 
to add, Peter was reminded of his part in the 


180 PETER HAD COURAGE 

commotion by Principal Harlow in a private in¬ 
terview after the session was over, and emerged 
with a sober expression and tears glistening on 
his cheeks. 

On one memorable Friday in late March, while 
the snow still covered the Deepwater hills, it be¬ 
came the turn of Beady Bennett and Leaky 
Terry to make a public appearance before their 
mates. Beady, who liked what was dramatic, had 
chosen the eloquent address of Wendell Phillips 
on Daniel O’Connell, the Irish patriot; while 
Leaky had selected a passage from Tennyson’s 
In Memoriam, his mother’s favorite poem. Both 
appeared after lunch attired in blue serge suits, 
with stiff linen collars,—unheard-of except on 
momentous occasions,—and neatly-tied cravats, 
and they moved with a care and discretion indic¬ 
ative of a desire to avoid all rude physical con¬ 
tacts until after the exhibition was over. Beady’s 
usual serious expression had deepened into a 
funereal gloom; while Leaky, with his flattened 
nose, big waving ears, and black hair plastered 
down smoothly with some oily substance, looked 
like a stranger from another clime,—possibly an 
Egyptian or a Greek. There were audible com¬ 
ments, not always favorable, on their garb, to- 


A MORAL ISSUE 181 

gether with bets as to which one would break 
down. To all the criticism the two victims made 
no response, except to threaten dire vengeance 
after the show was over. Taking their custom¬ 
ary seats, they sat studying their “ pieces ” dur¬ 
ing the recess while their friends were out playing 
leap-frog in the yard. Decorated and immaculate 
though they were, like the human sacrifices of 
some Aztec ceremonial, they looked miserable in¬ 
deed, and it was recognized by even hardened 
reprobates that no torture could possibly increase 
the suffering which the two were undergoing. 

When recess was over, the school gathered in 
the main hall, where Mr. Harlow made a few 
preliminary announcements. Then, while the 
audience waited expectantly, he opened the pro¬ 
gram of the afternoon, introducing the first 
speaker as “ Ralph Austin Bennett.” He then 
remained standing, while Beady rose from his 
bench and, in a manner visibly disconsolate, pro¬ 
ceeded with creaking shoes down the long aisle 
to the platform, where he bowed low to the Prin¬ 
cipal, his long arms dangling helplessly at his 
sides, and then turned sideways to his audience 
so that he looked at them over his left shoulder, 
fixing his eyes grimly on a chandelier in the rear 


182 PETER HAD COURAGE 

of the room. His attitude expressed determina¬ 
tion as he shut his eyes and, in a low voice, be^ 
gan the famous oration, rushing along as if his 
sole aim were to complete it within a stipulated 
period, and occasionally waving one arm, or both, 
in what might have been interpreted as a gesture, 
although the motion seemed to have no connec¬ 
tion with what was being said. As he progressed, 
he gained confidence, his voice grew unconsciously 
louder, and his manner became more resolute. 

“And I could hear,—and I could hear . . .” 

Memory, hitherto so reliable, was now failing 
him at a critical moment, and the prompter in 
the front row was getting ready to do her work 
of mercy. “And I could hear,” he faltered again, 
his body tense under the strain. 

“B-r-r-r-r! ” Something that sounded like a 
muffled bell was ringing through the hall! A 
hidden alarm-clock! Beady, his attention di¬ 
verted, looked around him hopefully,—here was 
almost a divine interposition! The boys and 
girls commenced to titter and glance knowingly 
at one another. The Principal stood up, a frown 
on his face as he listened. Then the clanging 
noise stopped as quickly as it had begun, and 
Mr. Harlow, turning to the puzzled Beady, said, 


A MORAL ISSUE 183 

“ Continue, Ralph, and disregard the interrup¬ 
tion.” 

Disappointed in his expectations, Beady faced 
his audience once more, an expression of resigna¬ 
tion showing in his eyes, and repeated, “And I 
could hear . . “ B-r-r-r! ” whirred the hid¬ 

den bell again! It was evidently of the intermit¬ 
tent variety, adjusted to ring at intervals of half 
a minute or more. This time Principal Harlow, 
biting his lips with vexation, stalked across the 
platform and traced the sound readily to a pon¬ 
derous wall-clock which hung high up on the left 
of the stage. As he reached a point just beneath, 
the noise again ceased, and the students chuckled 
with mirth, their smiles fading rapidly away, 
however, when he swung about on his heels and 
glared ominously at the offenders. The Principal 
now called two of the Seniors, Ernie Hill and 
Roddy Tower, whispered to them a moment, and 
then waited while they went outside and returned 
bearing a step-ladder. Upon this rather insecure 
support, with the two boys holding the base, he 
ascended, while those in the audience held their 
breaths, some of them hoping that he might top¬ 
ple. He was a tall, thin man, with a long neck, 
who looked seven feet high as he stood on one 


184 PETER HAD COURAGE 

of the steps reaching towards the clock. As he 
opened the lower compartment, the bell rang out 
once more with a brazen tone, and the Principal, 
startled, swayed just for a second as if he might 
fall; but he regained his equilibrium and, groping 
about in the interior, dragged out a large “ Big 
Ben/' which had been secreted inside. His prize 
held conspicuously in his hand, Mr. Harlow de¬ 
scended gingerly from his lofty perch, walked 
quickly to the window, and, raising it, hurled the. 
offending timepiece out into the snow, where, a 
few seconds later, it could be heard faintly tin¬ 
kling its last gasp. Peter wanted tremendously to 
applaud, but he was restrained by a conviction 
that Principal Harlow was in no tolerant mood,— 
and he was right! 

Vengeance having been thus summarily in¬ 
flicted on the unlucky clock, the Principal, very 
red in the face, once more took his place at his 
desk. Beady had meanwhile discreetly retired to 
his regular seat, and the Principal, having for¬ 
gotten that the Daniel O’Connell oration had 
not been completed, straightened his necktie, 
smoothed down his coat collar, and then an¬ 
nounced, “ We will now continue our afternoon’s 
program with a recital from Tennyson’s In 


A MORAL ISSUE 


185 


Memoriam, to be given by Aubrey Terry.” 
Leaky, thus summoned by the inexorable call, 
somehow stumbled to the platform, accomplished 
a ludicrous bow, and, standing in a hazardous 
posture only an inch or two from the edge, 
shouted in a stentorian voice: 

“ Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 

The flying cloud, the . . .” 

Principal Harlow started up as if he had been 
seized with a sudden abdominal pain; a loud guf¬ 
faw echoed through the room; and, as if in occult 
response to Beady’s impressive injunction, there 
was a tinny “ Whirr! ” from a new location, this 
time in the rear of the room. All heads turned 
automatically in the direction of the sound, and 
Leaky, his poem thus amazingly interrupted, 
stood sheepishly gazing about him, trying to keep 
from looking at Peter Wadsworth’s face, which 
was twitching with strange contortions. 

The Principal, his lips firmly compressed, was 
obviously very angry. Striding down the middle 
aisle while the clanging continued, he arrived at 
the rear seats just as the noise stopped abruptly. 
He now realized, however, that he was dealing 
with an intermittent alarm, and accordingly 


186 PETER HAD COURAGE 

waited patiently for a moment until the ringing 
recommenced, this time from the top of a book¬ 
case, behind a pile of discarded magazines. Ex¬ 
tending his long bony arm, Mr. Harlow produced 
another “ Big Ben,” and stepping towards the 
still open window, threw it out into the cold to 
join the first. 

Principal Harlow was not a man who was easily 
discouraged or beaten. Regaining his seat upon 
the stage, he glared at the apparently innocent 
Leaky and then faced his pupils, saying, “ Per¬ 
haps we can now proceed . . “ B-r-r-r! ” 

For the third time a strident ringing broke off his 
remarks. He now made no effort to disguise his 
rage. Pausing long enough to locate the source 
of the noise, he stepped to the grand piano in 
the corner and extracted one more alarm-clock, 
which quickly followed the others out into the 
drifts. By this time even the teachers were con¬ 
vulsed with laughter, and it was clearly impos¬ 
sible to enforce order under such conditions. 
Gaining control of himself by an effort, Mr. Har¬ 
low announced in a loud voice that the exercises 
were over for the afternoon. As he finished his 
sentence, another outbreak of bells smote the air, 
and there was a wild howl of glee from the school, 


A MORAL ISSUE 


187 


in which even Mr. Peck and Miss Arnold joined. 
Mr. Harlow, however, did not even smile. He 
motioned the pianist to her station, and the boys 
and girls marched out in their customary forma¬ 
tion, habit keeping them in good order. When 
they reached the vestibule, however, the storm 
broke, and there was a wild clamor,—the conse¬ 
quence of the repression which they had endured 
within the hall. 

“ Gee, wasn’t that awful? ” gasped Beady, who 
was almost in a state of collapse. “ I’ll bet I’ll 
never have to speak that old piece again.” 

“ Say, wasn’t old Harlow hot? ” ejaculated 
Peter. “ Somebody’s going to catch it, all right. 
He’s almost crazy mad! I could actually see the 
fire darting from his eye! ” 

“ Who did it, anyhow? ” inquired Leaky, his 
once neat attire now all crumpled after a wres¬ 
tling match which he had been carrying on with 
Charlie Webster. 

“ I don’t really know,” answered Peter. “ But 
I saw Ikey Warren around the school porch last 
night, and he told me he was fixing up something 
good for to-day. I guess this must be it.” 

“You young tattle-tale!” interrupted Ikey, 
who had come along just in time to hear Peter’s 


188 PETER HAD COURAGE 


words. “ How dare you say I had anything to do 
with it? If you open your head about me, I’ll 
beat you so that you will never walk again! ” 

“I haven’t said anything, have I?” asked 
Peter. “ I just told Leaky that I saw you here 
at the door last evening. That’s true, isn’t it? 
Your conscience must be bothering you! What 
difference does it make, anyhow? If you did do 
it, I think it’s a mighty good joke.” 

“ Sure I did it,” boasted Ikey, somewhat 
placated by Peter’s explanation. “ But there’s 
no need for you to give me away, is there? ” 

“ Don’t you worry,” replied Peter, his eyes get¬ 
ting hard in their glance at Ikey. “ I’m not a 
talebearer. Don’t be afraid! ” 

Every student in the school,—except possibly 
Ikey Warren,—told the story of the bells to his 
family that evening, and by the next day it was 
all over town. Members of the Board of Educa¬ 
tion, meeting Principal Harlow on the street, 
would grin broadly and say, “ I understand you 
had a new kind of bell-ringing in school yester¬ 
day,” or “ Well, Prof, you certainly damaged some 
alarm-clocks, from all that I hear.” After sev¬ 
eral witty greetings of this sort, the Principal 
lost his temper completely, and his sense of 


A MORAL ISSUE 


189 


humor disappeared. When he stopped at Green’s 
fruit store to buy some bananas and the genial 
proprietor, rubbing his hands, said, “ Why, Pro¬ 
fessor, you sure pulled off a comedy yesterday! 
My Frank hasn’t stopped laughing yet. Have 
you caught the villain?” Mr. Harlow snapped 
out sharply, “ That’s none of your business!” 
and left the store without making a purchase, 
leaving Mr. Green standing nonplussed gazing 
after the usually cheerful pedagogue. 

On Saturday afternoon and Sunday, the Prin¬ 
cipal quietly began an investigation. Having 
read many of Doyle’s tales of Sherlock Holmes, 
he followed out the procedure of that great de¬ 
tective, not ignoring the smallest details in his 
quest. Catechizing the janitors, he found one 
who admitted that just before seven o’clock, on 
the preceding Thursday evening, he had seen 
Peter Wadsworth standing near the rear porch 
of the school building talking with another boy, 
whom, however, he did not recognize. 

Now Mr. Harlow knew Peter very well, and 
liked him. He was also aware of Peter’s propen¬ 
sity for mischief-making, and he could easily be¬ 
lieve that the boy might have concocted such a 
scheme as that of the bells. His suspicion was 


190 PETER HAD COURAGE 

confirmed when, in wandering through the de¬ 
serted school-building on Sunday, he found in the 
top of the piano, where one of the alarm-clocks 
had been placed, a handkerchief with a large 
“ W ” in the corner. With this information at 
his disposal, he resolved to put the lad through 
a form of “ Third Degree.” 

When the session opened on Monday morning, 
everybody was in an expectant mood, wondering 
what the Principal would have to say. Much to 
the disappointment of the school, however, the 
preliminary exercises passed without any an¬ 
nouncement, and classes were conducted as usual, 
—not without a good deal of whispered comment 
as the boys and girls passed from one recitation 
to another. 

At nine o’clock, after Peter’s recitation in Eng¬ 
lish, he was handed a note ordering him to report 
immediately at the Principal’s office. Somewhat 
puzzled, but not at all alarmed, he told nobody, 
but went at once to the little room at the left of 
the platform, where Mr. Harlow held court. He 
' found that gentleman apparently busy at his 
desk. He looked up, snapped out a curt “ Sit 
down, Wadsworth,” and then went on with his 
writing, 


A MORAL ISSUE 


191 


Now Peter had always looked upon Mr. Har¬ 
low as a friend. The teacher had dined fre¬ 
quently at the Wadsworth home, and he and Dr. 
Wadsworth had belonged to the same college 
fraternity. Mr. Harlow had always called the 
boy “ Peter,” and, when the lad heard himself 
addressed as Wadsworth, he felt sure that some¬ 
thing must be wrong. As he sat there waiting 
for the ordeal, Peter wondered what he could 
have been summoned for. Usually his conscience 
was far from clear, but recently he had been 
studying hard for the examinations at the close 
of the term, and he had kept surprisingly free 
from mischief. ... It was easy to see that 
the Principal was in no amiable mood. Finally he 
thrust the papers aside and glanced sternly at 
Peter, with a frown wrinkling his forehead. 

“ Oh, yes,” he said, as if he had seen Peter for 
the first time. “ I thought, Wadsworth, that you 
might be willing to own up about the bells.” 

“ The bells! ” said Peter, a little confused. “ I 
don't know what you mean, Mr. Harlow.” 

“ You might just as well confess, Wadsworth,” 
went on the Principal. “ You see I know all 
about it.” 

“ Know all about what, sir? ” asked the boy. 


192 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ Young man, do you mean to say that you 
don’t understand me? I have discovered who was 
responsible for putting those alarm-clocks around 
the hall last Friday.” 

“ Who was he? ” asked Peter innocently, still 
unsuspicious. 

“ You young scoundrel, you know you did it 
yourself! ” 

“ Me? ” gasped Peter, so startled that he for¬ 
got his grammar. 

“ Yes, you, of course,” repeated Mr. Harlow. 
“ I know all about it.” 

“ But I had nothing to do with it, Mr. Harlow,” 
protested Peter, righteously indignant at being 
condemned without a hearing. “ I don’t pretend 
to be a saint, but I had nothing whatever to do 
with those bells.” 

“ Look here, Wadsworth,” almost shouted the 
irate teacher. “ Weren’t you hanging around the 
back porch of the schoolhouse about seven 
o’clock on last Thursday evening? Do you deny 
that? ” 

“ Yes, I was there for a minute or two,” admit¬ 
ted Peter, after a little reflection. “ I wasn’t ex¬ 
actly hanging around, though. I was on my way 
home from coasting up on Railroad Hill.” 


A MORAL ISSUE 193 

“ What were you hanging around,—as you call 
it,—for? ’’ asked Mr. Harlow. 

“ Just talking, that's all." 

“ Who with? " asked the Principal, himself dis¬ 
regarding the rules in the grammar book. 

“ Why, with-" Peter paused for a second. 

If he revealed Ikey’s name, the latter might be 
drawn into the affair. 

“ Go on," said the teacher. 

“ I—I can’t tell you, sir," declared Peter reso¬ 
lutely. 

“ You must! " 

“ I can’t do it, Mr. Harlow. I’m sorry. But I 
will give you my solemn word of honor that I had 
nothing to do with the bells." 

“ If you didn’t, what do you make of this 
handkerchief? " He handed Peter a rather dirty 
piece of linen. “ Isn’t that a f W ’ in the corner? " 

After examining the handkerchief, Peter was 
obliged to admit that the Principal was right. 
“ But that isn’t my handkerchief, for all that; my 
mother can prove that." 

“ I found it in the piano top, near where one 
of the bells was placed," said Mr. Harlow. “ Do 
you know whose it is? ’’ 

Peter made no reply. 



194 PETER HAD COURAGE 


“ Did you hear what I asked you? ” 

“ Yes, dr.” 

“ Why don't you answer? ” 

“ I don’t care to, Mr. Harlow.” 

“ If you don’t answer, I shall have to take your 
silence as a confession of guilt.” 

“ That’s too bad, sir, for I’m not guilty. If you 
insist on punishing me, I’ll have to stand it, I 
suppose. But I didn’t do it.” 

There was something convincing in Peter’s 
manner, and Mr. Harlow, who prided himself on 
his skill in character analysis, was beginning to 
feel that he had made a mistake in judgment. 
Nevertheless he had to carry through his plan of 
action. Rising, he said: 

“ Wadsworth, I can’t accept your statement. 
You refuse, for some reason, to tell me with 
whom you were talking on Thursday afternoon at 
the school building. You do not seem able to ex¬ 
plain the significance of the handkerchief with 
the ‘ W ’ in the corner. You also decline to an¬ 
swer my question as to who hid the clocks in the 
assembly hall. You are either guilty yourself 
or you are shielding the real culprit. In either 
case you deserve punishment. I will give you 
just twenty-four hours to decide to tell me what 


A MORAL ISSUE 195 

you know of the affair. After that, if you don’t 
confess, I shall be obliged to assume that you are 
the guilty one. You may go now and think it 
all over.” 

Peter started to protest once more, thought 
better of it, and then retreated, very much down¬ 
cast. All through the morning his mind was pre¬ 
occupied, with the result that his teachers, to 
their astonishment, had to propound their ques¬ 
tions a second time,—an unprecedented situation 
with Peter Wadsworth. At luncheon he sat glum 
and silent, and his mother inquired solicitously 
whether he felt ill. The fact was that he was de¬ 
bating inwardly what it was honorable to do. 
He had no desire to be accused of committing a 
deed for which he was not responsible; and yet 
his mind was made up that he would not say a 
word which would bring Ikey into the case. 
Rather than tell on a classmate, he would bear 
the full brunt of the punishment himself. Peter’s 
attitude may not have been in accord with the 
best legal procedure, but he was sure that he was 
right. He would not tell a lie; on the other hand, 
he would decline to give any information which 
would incriminate one of his comrades. 

Peter was still pondering over the problem 


196 PETER HAD COURAGE 

when, on his way home from school in the after¬ 
noon, he saw Ikey Warren coming to meet him, 
evidently eager to learn what had happened,— 
for the news of Peter’s inquisition had spread 
rapidly. 

“ What did he say to you, Bo? ” inquired Ikey, 
a shade of anxiety in his voice. 

Peter gave a succinct account of the interview, 
omitting all the irrelevancies. 

“ But what are you going to say when he calls 
you in to-morrow? ” asked Ikey, not concealing 
his agitation. 

“ Take my punishment, of course,” answered 
Peter, a trifle disgusted. “ What’s the matter? 
Are you afraid that I’m going to give you away? 
Well, I’m not! Don’t worry. Nothing will touch 
your miserable skin! ” With these words, he 
turned away, eager to be by himself with his own 
gloomy thoughts. 

Ikey was about to answer with an insult or a 
threat, but he stopped before it could escape his 
lips. The situation was one which he could not 
comprehend. Here was a fellow who was going 
to take a whipping rather than betray him,—him, 
Ikey Warren, who had often treated Peter with 
cruelty. Ikey was accustomed to abuse. It was 


A MORAL ISSUE 197 

fair treatment and kindness which he could not 
understand. Suppressing his growls, he slouched 
off down the street, much perplexed in his slug¬ 
gish intellect. A few rods farther on he was con¬ 
fronted by one of his satellites, Shifty Pell, who 
saluted him gleefully. “ Gosh, Ikey,” he began, 
“ have you heard the latest? Peter Wadsworth’s 
going to get licked for hiding the clocks! I’m 
mighty glad of it! He’s always preaching to the 
rest of us. I guess he’ll get his now! ” 

Ikey ordinarily tolerated Shifty and was pleased 
with his adulation, but he could not endure his 
meanness at this time. 

“ Get out of here, you vulture! ” he cried. 
“ Haven’t you any decency at all? Peter Wads¬ 
worth’s better than twenty yellow hounds like 
you! He’s a regular fellow! You’re nothing but 
a vile-minded cur! ” 

Shifty, not unnaturally, was astounded by this 
treatment at the hands of his former guide and 
mentor; then, noticing signs that indicated in¬ 
creasing irritation, he wisely decided to move on, 
shaking his head in wonderment at the trans¬ 
formation which had taken place in Ikey. 

Ikey, during the next few hours, went through 
a painful moral struggle,—the first which he had 


198 PETER HAD COURAGE 

ever experienced. A situation had developed of 
which he had never dreamed. Somebody was 
about to sacrifice himself for him! He,—Ikey 
Warren, the tough egg,—would escape punish¬ 
ment for his offense because Peter Wadsworth, 
an innocent person, chose to accept the blame. 
All night long Ikey tossed restlessly on his bed, 
unable to sleep, his mind filled with unpleasant 
images. Although he had no conception of the 
fact, it was a crisis in his career. There was 
something good in Ikey Warren, and it was be¬ 
ginning to show. But even when he was on his 
way to school in the morning and had joined his 
gang, he had not consciously decided what his 
policy was to be. 

At nine o’clock the fatal hour arrived when 
Peter was again due in Principal Harlow’s office. 
As he passed Ikey’s desk, the latter rose and fol¬ 
lowed him out. When Peter entered the Prin¬ 
cipal’s sanctum, Ikey was only a few steps be¬ 
hind, carried along by an impulse which he could 
not understand and dared not resist. When Mr. 
Harlow looked up, he saw Peter directly in front 
of him, and to the rear some three paces was 
Ikey, eager to arrest his attention. The Prin¬ 
cipal stared in a vexed manner at Ikey. 


A MORAL ISSUE 199 

“What are you here for, Warren?” he asked. 
“ It was Wadsworth that I was expecting.” 

At these words, Peter looked around and saw 
Ikey. “ You don’t belong here, Ikey,” he said in 
his turn. “ Please let me stay here alone. Go on 
back, will you, Ikey! ” 

“ No, I won’t,” announced Ikey, almost 
brutally. “ I came here to tell you, Mr. Harlow, 
that Peter didn’t have anything to do with them 
bells. I was the guy that was talkin’ with Peter 
near the porch, and I hid the alarm-clocks. 
You’d better let him go, ’cause he didn’t know 
nothin’ about it till it was all over.” In his ex¬ 
citement, Ikey relapsed into the kind of speech to 
which he was accustomed in his home. 

The Principal was dumfounded. He was near 
enough to his own school and college days to real¬ 
ize that he was face to face with an unusual situ¬ 
ation,—one revealing some extraordinary traits 
of character in the protagonists and which must 
be handled carefully. 

“ So you hid the clocks all yourself, did you? ” 
he asked Ikey, mainly in order to gain time for 
reflection. 

“Me and a couple of other guys,” admitted 
Ikey. “ But I did all the planning and I’ll take 


200 PETER HAD COURAGE 

whatever’s cornin’ to me, see! Peter wasn’t any¬ 
where around.” 

“ You’re a fool,” commented Peter. “ Nobody 
would ever have found you out if you hadn’t 
owned up.” 

“Aw, I ain’t goin’ to have any guy get licked 
for what I did,” responded Ikey. “ I guess I’m 
tough enough to take my punishment. Let him 
go, Mr. Harlow, won’t you? ” 

“ Wait a minute,” said the Principal. “ You 
two boys interest me a good deal.” He motioned 
them to take chairs, and they sat down, both 
visibly embarrassed. “As I understand it, you 
wouldn’t tell whom you were talking with at the 
porch because you were afraid that Ikey would 
be caught. That’s it, isn’t it, Peter? ” 

“ I suppose so, sir.” 

“And now you, Warren, are owning up because 
you don’t want Wadsworth punished for your 
misbehavior,—is that right? ” 

“ Sure, that’s the dope! ” 

“ Well, I suppose I ought to take some action, 
but I can’t do it. You’ve both shown good stuff, 
and I’m going to call the whole affair forgotten.” 

“ Do you mean that you’re not going to punish 
me at all? ” asked Ikey incredulously. 


A MORAL ISSUE 


201 


“ That’s just it,” replied Mr. Harlow. “ We’ll 
just ignore all that has happened. And now let’s 
shake on it.” He held out his hand, first to 
Ikey, who held it languidly as if he were in a 
trance, and then to Peter, who gave it a good 
substantial grip. 

“ You certainly have given us a square deal,” 
said Peter. 

“ I’ll tell the world you have! ” broke out Ikey, 
with equal fervency. 

“And now I suppose that there are classes 
waiting for you,” said the Principal. “ This in¬ 
terview has lasted about long enough.” And he 
slapped each boy on the shoulder as the two de¬ 
parted into the hall. 

As he sat at his desk after they had left him, 
Mr. Harlow thought over his conduct without 
being satisfied with himself. “ I am sure now 
that I’ll never make a schoolmaster,” he said to 
himself disconsolately. “I’m too easy! I don’t 
know what discipline is, and the boys are going 
to find my weakness out after this affair. But I 
couldn’t do anything else but let those two fine 
chaps off! ” 

It is a pity that he could not have overheard a 
brief conversation two or three days later be- 


202 PETER HAD COURAGE 

tween Dr. Wadsworth and his son. Somehow the 
tale had leaked out,—largely because the grateful 
Ikey had let everybody know about Principal 
Harlow’s justice,—and the physician had made 
inquiries from Peter, eventually eliciting the 
whole story. 

“ Well,” said the father, when he had listened 
attentively to Peter’s narrative, “ I should say 
that Principal Harlow was a man,—what you 
boys call a ‘ regular fellow.’ ” 

“ He surely is. And the funny thing is that 
Ikey, who never liked him, has been telling all 
the fellows that any guy who tries any trick on 
Mr. Harlow will have to fight him afterwards. I 
guess the school will be quiet enough this spring! 
I know that I couldn’t possibly do a mean thing 
to a man who’s as square as that! ” 

“ How do you like Ikey now, son? ” 

“ Say, Dad, he’s got lots of good stuff in him. 
I’d like to take him to Lake Woodhull this sum¬ 
mer when we go. The poor fellow has never 
been away from home, and it would do him good.” 

Dr. Wadsworth smiled non-committally; but he 
was pleased at Peter’s spirit, and, when vacation 
time arrived, Ikey went with the Wadsworth 
family as a member of their party. 



“And now let’s shake on it .’’—Page 201 



































CHAPTER IX 


GIGE GOES FISHING 

To Peter and Gige every season had its special 
delights, and each, while it lasted, seemed better 
than any other. They had fishing in the spring, 
swimming, tennis, and baseball in the summer, 
football and hunting in the autumn, and skating, 
skiing, and coasting in the winter. Sometimes 
the Followers of Deerfoot debated the question as 
to which month was the best, and it was a hard 
problem to decide. But the really great event 
of the year for the Wadsworth family was the 
August spent at Lake Woodhull, in the Adiron- 
dacks, or what they called the “ North Woods.” 
As early as Christmas the two boys began, on 
stormy afternoons, to sort out their fishing tackle, 
—the steel rods, the trolling lines, the flies, and 
all the complex paraphernalia necessary for the 
sport of angling. The accumulation of Christmas 
and birthday gifts had equipped each boy with a 
knapsack, a hunting-knife, a hatchet, a canteen, 

and all the various useful articles required in 

203 


204 PETER HAD COURAGE 


the woods. Both were well-read in forest lore, 
such volumes as White’s The Blazed Trail and 
Hubbard’s The Lure of the Labrador Wild being 
the favorite literature of the family. 

Peter was now thirteen and Gige eleven. The 
older brother, in spite of the injury to his leg 
during the previous autumn, had come through 
the year with a creditable record in his studies, 
and Gige was, as usual, at the top of his class. 
Dr. Wadsworth believed in rewarding achieve¬ 
ment ; and so, with part of the “ Stamp Fund,”— 
the money for which had come to Mrs. Wads¬ 
worth just before school closed,—he bought for 
his sons a fine sailing canoe, which was shipped 
at once to Lake Woodhull so that it might be 
ready at the camp when they arrived. When 
Mrs. Wadsworth, with a mother’s characteristic 
caution, remonstrated with her husband, pointing 
out that such a frail craft would be dangerous on 
a body of water as large as Woodhull, he stood 
his ground. “ The lads can swim pretty well for 
their ages, and they’re used to taking care of 
themselves. We mustn’t pamper them, you 
know. It’s our duty, whether we enjoy it or not, 
to train them to overcome fear of every sort.” 
So the matter was settled. The boys had their 


GIGE GOES FISHING 205 

own canoe, and they were eager to master the 
art of navigating it. 

On a Monday morning at the close of July, 
with a blazing sun pouring down its heat on the 
little village, the Wadsworth family were assem¬ 
bled at the railroad station to take the eight- 
fifteen train to Schuyler, the junction city where 
cars had to be changed for the north country. 
Having turned his practice over for the time be¬ 
ing to a fellow physician, Dr. Wadsworth left 
absolutely care-free, and he was as happy as 
either of his sons. Provisions of all sorts had 
been ordered in advance and sent ahead by ex¬ 
press, but there was still a big pile of luggage to 
be transported. Ikey Warren had been invited 
by Mrs. Wadsworth to be the guest of the family 
for the month. Ikey’s mother, who was strug¬ 
gling to bring up nine children, had demurred for 
a time, chiefly because she realized that her boy 
had no suitable clothes. But Mrs. Wadsworth 
had tactfully taken care of that question, and now 
Ikey was on the platform with Beady Bennett, 
who was also to accompany them for his first trip 
into the woods. Both Ikey and Beady looked in 
amazement at the material which was stacked up 
around them,—trunks and suit-cases, of course, 


206 PETER HAD COURAGE 

but also rolls of blankets, duffle-bags, creels, and 
mysterious boxes like those which miraculously 
appeared in the possession of the Swiss Family 
Robinson after their famous wreck on the island. 
Many of Peter’s gang were on hand to see the 
party off, and there was a good deal of chaffing 
before the train rolled in from Bridgeton on its 
way up the valley. There were some last “ Good¬ 
byes! ” Dr. Wadsworth looked around to see 
that all the baggage was properly loaded, and the 
great month had begun. 

There was always plenty of excitement in 
Schuyler, for they had to wait two hours for a 
train north, and Dr. Wadsworth took the boys 
sight-seeing. This year much of the time was 
spent in visiting a sporting-goods store, where 
he could not resist the temptation to invest in 
some spinners of a new design for lake trolling 
and a few additional flies. At eleven-thirty they 
were off again, and the four boys had the unac¬ 
customed delight of sitting together at a table in 
the dining-car, with full permission to order what 
they pleased. At two o’clock they reached Mer¬ 
ton Station, where they got off and helped the 
baggageman to load their stuff on a small steam¬ 
boat. On this craft they went eight miles down 




207 


GIGE GOES FISHING 

Merton Lake to Parson’s Landing, where they 
and their supplies were dumped unceremoniously 
on a small trembling dock. Here they were met 
by a buckboard,—a rough and uncomfortable 
wagon with heavy wheels and springs,—which 
was to take them the six miles over a rutty cordu¬ 
roy road to Woodhull Lake itself. Mrs. Wads¬ 
worth and little Vera., then only eight years old, 
took a seat in the buckboard beside old Jim 
Blaine, the driver; but the others walked ahead, 
leaving the clumsy vehicle, loaded down with 
their baggage, to follow them at a more leisurely 
pace. 

It was here that Ikey and Beady first learned 
how long a mile in the woods can be. After they 
had covered perhaps a third of the distance, 
Beady said to Peter, “ We must be almost there, 
aren’t we? I’m sure we’ve gone more than six 
miles.” He was chagrined to find that Dr. Wads¬ 
worth only laughed and offered to let him wait for 
the buckboard. Eventually, when Beady had 
concluded that there was no such place as Lake 
Woodhull, they descended a long gradual slope, 
at the end of which they saw the blue water glis¬ 
tening through the trees,—a welcome sight to 
boys whose legs were tired! 


208 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ There’s Ed Locke with the motor-boat! ” 
shouted Gige, as he ran down to the edge of the 
lake and shook hands with a tall, rangy, swarthy 
man, dressed in long khaki trousers and a brown 
flannel shirt. 

“And he’s got Kerry, his dog, with him! ” added 
Peter, as he heard a welcoming bark. 

Ed Locke was a guide who had built some years 
ago a small cabin on Lake Woodhull and lived 
there, summer and winter, all by himself. He 
took care of Dr. Wadsworth’s camp, filled the 
ice-house, and repaired the dock every spring. He 
seemed to the boys like a second Jesse James, but, 
as a matter of fact, he was a shy, gentle sort of 
person, who had returned from the World War 
to find that his sweetheart had married another 
man and had thereafter chosen to live in the 
wilds, away from civilized life. He spoke very 
little and seemed to shrink from society; but he 
was willing to help Dr. Wadsworth because he 
liked him and the boys. 

While they waited for the buckboard to come, 
the youngsters chatted with Ed and looked about 
them. Ikey gazed in amazement at the long 
stretch of water, extending in front of him farther 
than the eye could reach. On the left the shore 


GIGE GOES FISHING 


209 


was rocky, rising up gradually several hundred 
feet to a long ridge, which Ed Locke referred to 
as Panther Mountain. On the right, the bank 
seemed lower, and there were large areas of dead 
trees, standing bleak and bare and ghost-like out 
of the water. The shores on that side were evi¬ 
dently swampy for some distance back from the 
lake itself. Nowhere, except on the rough wooden 
dock at the landing, were there any signs of hu¬ 
man habitation. Ikey felt like some pioneer 
entering a wilderness and about to confront un¬ 
known perils. 

Shortly after six o’clock, the buckboard, with 
brakes creaking and its two horses flecked with 
foam, drew up at the end of the trail, and the 
luggage was once more transferred to a boat, 
everybody pitching in and helping. Dr. Wads¬ 
worth was particularly pleased to see that Ikey, 
about whose zeal he had some doubt, was the most 
energetic of the four boys when it came to hard 
labor. In half an hour they were ready to start 
on the four-mile voyage down Lake Woodhull,— 
the last stage of their complicated journey. With 
a sputtering and coughing the motor-launch 
puffed away from the dock. 

“ Hooray! ” cried Peter, after they had chugged 


210 PETER HAD COURAGE 

along for ten minutes, “ I can see the end of 
Snake Island! ” 

“ What’s that? ” asked Beady. 

“ It’s in the middle of the lake, just across from 
our camp/’ explained Gige. “We named it that 
because Dad killed a big snake there when we 
were little kids.” 

Peter and Gige were kept busy answering ques¬ 
tions of this sort, and Dr. Wadsworth, when they 
heard a peculiar mournful cry coming from the 
distance, had to explain that it was not a child 
in distress but merely a loon. Before long they 
rounded a point on the left, and Ed Locke pointed 
out to Ikey his own modest camp, almost hidden 
in a grove of pines. As they drew nearer to the 
island, they could see that it was very rocky, and 
Gige told Beady that there were many caverns 
there to be explored. 

“ Our cabin’s just around that big granite 
promontory,” said Peter to Ikey. “ We’re almost 
there now! I’m excited! ” 

In only a few minutes more they had entered 
a narrow part of the lake, between Snake Island 
and the left bank, with Panther Mountain tow¬ 
ering above them, and Gige, with a shout of de¬ 
light, pointed to the shore, where, in the half- 


GIGE GOES FISHING 211 

darkness, they could see a small dock extending 
into the water. 

“ There’s the sailing canoe! ” cried Gige, as 
they approached the landing-place. When they 
were safely moored, Peter and Gige could hardly 
keep from unpacking it at once, but Dr. Wads¬ 
worth, as commanding officer, indicated that there 
were other more pressing jobs to be done, and 
the canoe must wait. 

“ It’s getting late, boys, and we’ve just time 
to get settled before dark. First of all, let’s all 
carry this duffle up to the porch and unlock the 
cabin. Then we’ve got to find some wood, carry 
water from the well, start a fire, make the beds, 
and unpack the food,—that is, if we expect that 
Mother is going to let us have any supper. Now, 
everybody get down to business, and we’ll have 
it done in no time at all.” 

The Wadsworth camp was a small and compact 
cabin built of logs, but lined with boards, and 
containing a dining-room, a kitchen, and four 
bedrooms, in addition to a large living-room 
heated by a huge stone fireplace. It stood per¬ 
haps a hundred feet back from the lake, almost 
at the base of Panther Mountain, with Snake 
Island about a quarter of a mile away from the 


212 PETER HAD COURAGE 


shore in front. There was just one other cabin 
on the lake,—that occupied by Ed Locke,—but 
only two miles from the foot, over a well-trodden 
trail, was a luxurious lodge belonging to the Her¬ 
kimer Club, of which Dr. Wadsworth was a mem¬ 
ber. The Wadsworths, as a family, preferred to 
live simply, and all the labor around the camp 
was performed by the occupants, Dr. Wadsworth 
himself acting usually as cook. In the daily rou¬ 
tine everybody had his allotted task,—chopping 
wood, washing dishes, making fires, or attending 
to the beds,—and no visitor was welcome who 
did not do his share cheerfully. A deep well pro¬ 
vided the coolest and purest of water; there was 
an ice-house which was kept full; and the Her¬ 
kimer Club launch brought mail and supplies 
each day from the outside world. It seemed prim¬ 
itive, but within fifteen miles in any direction 
there were huge hotels, with all the comforts of 
a New York caravansary. 

Beady and Ikey, although unaccustomed to 
such camping, learned rapidly from the others. 
In just a few minutes after their arrival, the 
smoke was curling up from the chimney, and Mrs. 
Wadsworth was busy over the stove with Vera 
as her assistant. Peter opened boxes of pro- 


213 


GIGE GOES FISHING 

visions, while Gige placed the bags and cans away 
on the shelves. The grass-grown path from the 
kitchen to the well was soon trampled by many 
feet, and the chairs were brought out on the 
piazza. By the time the stars were twinkling, the 
savory odor of broiled ham was permeating the 
dining-room, and Ikey realized that he had never 
been so near starvation. There was a jolly sup¬ 
per, a little hasty dish-washing, and, by ten 
o’clock, the cabin was quiet except for the gentle 
breathing of the weary campers, all fast asleep. 

At six-thirty the next morning, with the sun 
pouring in at the eastern windows, Peter, follow¬ 
ing a custom with which all visitors soon became 
acquainted, leaped from his bed, emitted a suc¬ 
cession of blood-curdling whoops calculated to 
rouse an Egyptian mummy from his long slum¬ 
ber, and rushed outdoors and down the path to 
the diving-board, followed quickly by Ikey, 
Beady, and Gige, Dr. Wadsworth coming more 
decorously in the rear. The spring-board had 
been placed on a high granite rock, at least eight 
feet above the dark water below, and Peter, cast¬ 
ing off his pajamas, was out on the end before 
even the alert Gige could catch him. Standing 
there a second, poised like Mercury, he shouted, 


214 PETER HAD COURAGE 


“Here goes nothing! ” and, springing into the 
air, came down head foremost in a graceful curve 
to the placid surface of the lake. “Wow! ” he 
shrieked, as he emerged, shaking the water from 
his hair and eyes. “ Oh, but that’s cold! It’s just 
like the Arctic Ocean! You’ll freeze, Gige! ” 
But the smaller lad was too familiar with this 
type of complaint to be much alarmed. In a 
short time he and the others were in with Peter, 
and, when Dr. Wadsworth arrived, he saw them 
all plunging about like a school of well-tanned 
porpoises. Without hesitation, he described a. 
dive which was technically perfect, striking in the 
very midst of the youngsters and scattering spray 
in all directions. Soon he was ducking them un¬ 
mercifully, and they were all climbing on his 
back at once, like a crowd of slippery seals. But 
they didn’t linger long at that hour in the morn¬ 
ing. “Everybody out!” he called, and they 
clambered up on the rocks and sprinted back in a 
mad race through the birches to the cabin, to rub 
themselves down briskly with coarse towels and 
get breakfast under way. The standard costume 
at camp was an athletic shirt and running pants, 
with a pair of canvas slippers on the feet and a 
sweater if the weather was cool. When the 


GIGE GOES FISHING 


215 


mosquitoes were biting, it was not always com¬ 
fortable, but Dr. Wadsworth was enthusiastic for 
it on the ground that it gave free play to the 
limbs. 

Breakfast offered Ikey and Beady their first 
taste of Adirondack pancakes with maple syrup, 
and they were reluctant to admit that their capac¬ 
ity was limited by any physical restrictions. 
There came a moment, however, when they could 
swallow no more; and everybody then proceeded 
to wash and dry the dishes. This ceremony over, 
the boys were allowed to unpack the new sailing 
canoe and launch it in the water, little Vera 
breaking a bottle of ginger ale over the stern as 
it slid into the lake. It did not take the four lads, 
operating together, very long to have the tiny 
craft ready for a trial; but no one of them had 
ever managed a sail, and they could do nothing 
until Dr. Wadsworth had finished his chores and 
was prepared to embark. It was he who, about 
ten o’clock, took Peter out for the first run and 
instructed him in the proper method of manipu¬ 
lating the canvas. There was only a light breeze 
that morning, and the canoe glided along 
smoothly before the wind. Peter’s father pointed 
out that a sailing canoe, even under the best of 


216 PETER HAD COURAGE 


conditions, is a delicate craft to guide and that 
the boys must never go out in her except in their 
bathing-suits, prepared to be upset. He also dem¬ 
onstrated to Peter that, when a boat of that kind 
is overturned, it is wiser for the occupants to 
make for the canoe and cling to it than it is to 
set out for the shore. All this he explained while 
Peter and he were circumnavigating Snake Is¬ 
land, which stretched for a mile at least down the 
center of the lake. In his short lesson, Peter 
mastered the basic principles of tacking, and was 
able to come about without tipping over,—to the 
immense admiration of his friends who gazed at 
him from the dock until the canoe had disap¬ 
peared at the other end of the island. When the 
two returned and were safe on shore, Dr. Wads¬ 
worth praised him for his quickness in learning, 
but made him promise not to go out without him 
for at least a week, during which probationary 
period the lad could acquire experience and con¬ 
fidence. 

While they were all impatiently awaiting the 
close of this period so that they could take out 
the Ataianta ,— so christened by Mrs. Wadsworth 
because of her supposed speed,—Peter painted 
the name on the bow and went out with his 


GIGE GOES FISHING 217 

father whenever the latter was at leisure. Peter 
soon reached the point where he thought himself 
master of the seas and would have been ready 
to accept a position as first mate on a yacht. 
Meanwhile the others had to resort to their own 
pastimes for diversion. 

On the first grey morning Gige brought out the 
fishing tackle and invited Beady to accompany 
him on an expedition to secure some trout for 
dinner. At eleven,—almost twelve,—Gige felt 
that he was an accomplished woodsman, and 
Beady, who was a year older, had read extensively 
about the wilds. Nevertheless Mrs. Wadsworth 
cautioned them about staying on well-marked 
trails and insisted that they should carry a com¬ 
pass, a hatchet, and some matches as part of their 
equipment. With Gige as guide, the two took the 
trail back of the ice-house, followed it without 
difficulty for a mile or more around the base of 
Panther Mountain, and then met a turbulent 
little brook, which they fished down for a consid¬ 
erable distance with only fair luck. After walk¬ 
ing for half an hour, they found themselves in a 
clearing, where the stream broadened out into a 
glorious pool,—just the sort of a home which 
big square-tails would be likely to select. Al- 


218 PETER HAD COURAGE 

though he did notice through the trees a deserted 
building of some kind, Gige, in his excitement at 
his discovery, paid no attention to it. He was 
too much occupied in picking out the most strate¬ 
gic position from which to make a cast. A true 
fisherman becomes oblivious to many things. 

With the manner of an experienced Izaak 
Walton, Gige selected a brand-new leader, care¬ 
fully attached three flies,—a Silver Doctor, a 
bright Montreal, and a Dun Hackle,—and, step¬ 
ping out of the forest into the long grass, made 
a dexterous cast. “ Swish! ” The water was 
boiling around his lure, and his tackle seemed 
furiously alive! He struck sharply, as he had 
been taught to do, and was certain that he had 
made a kill. Warned by an expert father, he did 
not hurry, but skilfully maneuvered his hooks to 
the shore, where he discovered, to his amazement, 
that he had taken three trout,—one on each fly! 
They were small, it is true,—not more than eight 
inches long,—but they were over the legal limit, 
and Gige’s mouth watered as he pictured them 
deliciously fried in corn-meal and bacon. Motion¬ 
ing to Beady to hurry, he cast again, with pre¬ 
cisely the same delightful result. 

“ This is a magical pool! ” he whispered to his 


219 


GIGE GOES FISHING 

companion, as he disengaged three more wet and 
glistening fish from the hooks. “ We'll fill the 
creel in no time." 

Soon Beady had his flies adjusted, and, al¬ 
though his cast was less graceful than Gige’s, the 
result was the same. 

“ I'll bet that nobody has ever dropped a fly 
into this pool before," he said to Gige. “ Why, 
these fish are crazy for food! I never dreamed 
of anything like this! And right close to civiliza¬ 
tion, too! It's certainly queer! " 

They were both preparing to cast once more 
when Gige saw a stalwart figure running towards 
them from the other side, waving his arms madly 
and apparently in no placid mood. As he drew 
nearer, Gige could hear him shouting, “ What are 
you young jackasses doing here? " 

“Why, just fishing! " answered Gige, as if he 
were astonished at such a foolish question. 

“ Don't you realize that you are breaking the 
law? " 

“ No, I didn't," replied Gige, his chin dropping. 
“ We've got licenses, all right, and this isn't the 
closed season, is it? " 

“ Look here, young fellow, can't you under¬ 
stand that this is the private hatchery for the 


220 PETER HAD COURAGE 

Herkimer Club? I’m the caretaker, and it’s my 
job to watch out for trespassers like you.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ Just what I say. This pool is where all our 
small trout are kept before we place them in the 
club streams.” 

“ Then that’s why it’s so full of fish! ” 

“ Yes, you’ll get the point in a minute or two! 
You didn’t suppose that this was just an ordinary 
pool, did you? ” 

“ Well, we just came down the little creek that 
flows into it, and we took it for granted that it 
was a bully good fishing-place which nobody had 
happened to come across.” 

“ You can tell that cock-and-bull story to the 
judge,” said the caretaker. “ You may be only 
boys, but you’re old enough to know better. Be¬ 
sides, you’re intruding on the club property, any¬ 
how, when you fish on the streams. You’ll have 
a big fine to pay for this day’s sport! ” 

“A fine! Why?” 

“ There’s a fine of five dollars for each fish 
taken out of this protected water. If you haven’t 
at least fifteen, I’m not a good guesser. Come 
along with me over to my cabin.” 

For a second or two Gige considered the possi- 


GIGE GOES FISHING 


221 


bility of taking to his heels and escaping. But 
he noticed that the caretaker, who was decidedly 
muscular, had his eye on him all the while and 
that he carried in his belt an ominous-looking 
revolver. 

“ I’ll just take those creels/’ said the man, giv¬ 
ing him a suspicious glance. “ We’ll have to 
count the fish to see what the fine will be. And 
don’t try any monkey-work! I’m special con¬ 
stable for this district.” He threw back his coat, 
revealing a large silver badge pinned to his shirt. 

Beady, who had been much too frightened to 
say a word, was ready to burst into tears, but 
trudged along behind. He had a mental picture 
of himself, unable to pay the fine imposed and 
incarcerated behind prison bars, with his horrified 
parents coming shamefacedly to visit him as he 
sat there in convict’s stripes. What an idiot he 
had been! How could any one but a fool help 
knowing that such a pool must have been spe¬ 
cially stocked! He had shown no intelligence 
whatever,—and now it was too late! 

They now were following a trail over a wooden 
bridge and around the pool to the wooden shanty 
which Gige had noticed vaguely on their first en¬ 
trance to the clearing. 


222 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ Dump those fish out here,” ordered the 
warden, pointing to the steps in front of the door. 
The boys obeyed, not without a sense of shame as 
they saw spread out before them, side by side, 
the fruits of their indiscretion. The constable 
counted them one by one as they were placed 
on the boards. “ Twenty-six in all, I make it,— 
no, twenty-seven! ” he said, as he turned the 
creels bottom up and let one more poor dried-up 
trout fall to the ground. “ Let’s see,—that’s a 
hundred and thirty-five dollars, ain’t it? ” 

Gige nodded gloomily to indicate that the com¬ 
putation, so far as he was concerned, was correct. 

“ Got any money with you? ” inquired the 
warden. 

Gige reached in his pocket and drew out some 
coins. “ Here’s sixty-eight cents,” he announced, 
as he counted his change. “And maybe Beady’s 
got some more.” 

“All I have here is forty cents,” said Beady, 
after his inspection had been completed. 

“ Well, that won’t help much, will it? What’s 
your name, young fellow?” 

“ George Wadsworth, your honor.” 

Again the warden looked suspiciously at Gige, 
but the small boy’s expression acquitted him of 


GIGE GOES FISHING 


223 


any attempt to ridicule the officer. “ What are 
you doing up in this country, anyhow? Does 
your father know where you are? ” 

“ Dad has a camp over at Lake Woodhull. It 
isn’t very far away.” 

“ What, are you ‘ Doc’ Wadsworth’s kid? ” 

“ Well, my dad is a doctor, and his name is 
Sidney Tuttle Wadsworth.” 

“Humph!” grunted the inquisitor. “You 
ought to have inherited some of his brains. He’s 
a real fisherman! He wouldn’t have cast flies 
into a hatchery pool! ” 

“ You bet he is,” said Gige, who had now re¬ 
gained his composure somewhat. “ It wasn’t his 
fault, either, that we came here. You see he let 
me and my friend, Beady Bennett here, go off 
fishing, and we saw the little brook up above, and 
then walked down it,—and then, all of a sudden, 
this big pool appeared,—and,—well, I guess the 
truth is that we didn’t do any thinking. But I’ve 
got some money in the bank that’s all my own,— 
money from some postage stamps Dad sold for 
me,—and, if you’ll let us go back to our cabin, I’ll 
bring it to you as soon as I can get it from the 
Deepwater Bank. I will, honest Injun, cross my 
heart and hope to die! ” 


224 PETER HAD COURAGE 


“ So you’re Doc Wadsworth’s kid, are you? ” 
said the warden meditatively. “ That’s queer! 
You may be interested to know, my boy, that 
your father saved my life once.” 

“ Is that so? ” said Gige, his eyes opened wide. 
“ How was that? ” 

“ Well, it was like this, son. About twenty 
years ago, before you or your chum here was 
born, I used to guide for some of the sports up 
in this country,—and it was a lot wilder then than 
’tis now, I can tell you. One day a city dude 
wanted me to go with him from the Herkimer 
Club lodge up Panther Mountain. It ain’t very 
far, but the trail wasn’t cut out proper in those 
days, and we planned to spend the night on top. 
We got up all right, but coming down the next 
morning I slipped over a cliff and fell about fif¬ 
teen feet. Somehow I cut my leg pretty bad on 
a hatchet I was carrying, and I thought I was 
goin’ to bleed to death then and there. The dude 
I was with hadn’t any brains,—all he could do 
was just yell an’ yell for help,—and just at that 
critical moment along came your dad. He saw 
what the trouble was right away and made what 
he called a ‘ turnyket ’ to stop the bleedin’. He 
told me later that if he hadn’t happened along, 


GIGE GOES FISHING 


225 


I’d have been a dead corpse in less than ten min¬ 
utes. Well, he fixed me up, and he and that ten¬ 
derfoot carried me somehow back down the moun¬ 
tain to his shack. I was mighty near a week get¬ 
ting my strength back, and he tendin’ to me all 
the time. I guess I won’t forget that in a hurry, 
even if I haven’t seen him for nearly ten years.” 

“Why don’t you come along and visit him 
while I get the money for the fines? ” suggested 
Gige. 

“ Fines! ” exclaimed the constable indignantly. 
“ Do you think for one second that old Mike 
Marlin would take money from Doc Wadsworth’s 
kid? He wouldn’t accept a cent for fixin’ my 
leg! You bring those fish over here and we’ll 
dump ’em down a deep hole where nobody’ll ever 
see ’em. Only don’t you ever breathe a word to 
anybody about what you’ve done! ” 

Much relieved, Gige and Beady gathered up 
the poor shriveled trout and obediently dropped 
them into a cavity underneath a fallen tree- 
trunk; then Mike filled the hole with moss and 
leaves. 

“ There! ” he said, as he wiped the perspira¬ 
tion from his forehead with his large red hand¬ 
kerchief. “ I’m glad that’s done! An’ don’t 


226 PETER HAD COURAGE 

either one of you ever fish a pool like that again 
without making sure that there ain’t a warden 
guarding it. An’ when you get back, you tell 
your Dad that you saw ol’ Mike Marlin. Can 
you remember all that? ” 

“You bet I can,” answered Gige. “ An’ I’m 
going to tell him what a corker you’ve been to 
us.” 

“ Don’t you dare tell him about those fish, 
young fellow,” cautioned Mike. “ That’s a secret 
among us three. You just mention casual-like 
that you saw me down at the Hatchery. Mebbe 
he’ll be over here some of these days and look 
me up.” 

Gige shook the huge paw of the warden in his, 
and Beady went through the same ceremony, 
mumbling his gratitude in an embarrassed fash¬ 
ion. Mike pointed out to them a trail leading 
back up the stream to the main path to the Wads¬ 
worth camp, and they said “ So long! ” and 
started on the return trip. 

“ That fellow’s a prince,” announced Beady, 
as they walked off happily through the woods. 

“ That’s what he is,” responded Gige. “ We’re 
lucky, all right. I don’t know what would have 
happened to us if he hadn’t known Dad.” 


GIGE GOES FISHING 


227 


It was an easy stroll back to Lake Woodhull, 
which they reached in time for luncheon; and 
they were a little ashamed when Peter and Ikey, 
looking in their creels, found them empty. They 
made no explanation, however, and attention was 
diverted from them when Dr. Wadsworth heard 
about Mike Marlin and told the others the tale 
of the adventure on the mountain. Within a 
week Dr. Wadsworth himself went to call on Mike 
and heard from him the full story of Gige’s poach¬ 
ing expedition. 

“ Say, Doc,” said Mike, as he finished his 
description, “ they were the scaredest kids I ever 
saw,—but they didn’t ask for any favors,—not 
them! They were game to take their medicine 
without a murmur. That’s what I liked about 
them. They didn’t scare for a cent! They’re 
your kids all right! ” 

“ Only one of them is, as a matter of fact,” ex¬ 
plained Dr. Wadsworth. “ The other is a lad 
called Bennett. But they’re both plucky, I think.” 

“ I know said Mike, stressing the verb. 
“ You won’t have any trouble raising that young¬ 
ster. He can take care of himself.” 

Nothing that Mike could have said could have 
pleased Gige’s father more. 


CHAPTER X 


A RESCUE 

There was no possibility that time would hang 
heavy on the hands of any of the Wadsworth 
party. Mrs. Wadsworth, of course, had plenty 
to do around the cabin, and she enjoyed trolling 
for lake trout, with Vera holding the line between 
her fingers, while her husband rowed slowly up 
and down in favorite fishing places. The boys, 
when the necessary work was done, had their 
choice of many pastimes: often they explored 
Snake Island, tracing caverns far back into the 
rocks and finding unexpected hollows into which 
no light could penetrate; twice they climbed 
Panther Mountain, once with Dr. Wadsworth as 
a guide and once, to their delight, absolutely by 
themselves; they took trips to the three Herkimer 
Club lodges, where they saw fat ladies in knick¬ 
erbockers and city office men imagining that they 
were roughing it in high leather boots,—most un¬ 
comfortable, as one of them confessed to Peter,— 

228 


A RESCUE 


229 


and riding-breeches. Often they fished the wood¬ 
land streams, and always with success,—although 
not with the results achieved by Beady and Gige 
on their first expedition. On rainy days, Mrs. 
Wadsworth would produce a stock of stained and 
yellowed magazines for them to read, but most of 
them preferred to make repairs on their clothes 
or their fishing tackle. In the evening, the boys 
would bring out their mandolins and banjoes 
and strum college songs and jazz melodies, or 
they would play games with cards on the big liv¬ 
ing-room table. No one, unless he were off on a 
trip, failed to be on time for meals. After a 
week of this sort of treatment they were all as 
red as Indians, and even Ikey looked as if he 
had been turned into a new person. His un¬ 
healthy flabbiness and pallor had disappeared, 
leaving him a brown, muscular animal like the 
others. 

Ikey’s choice among sports was sailing. Dur¬ 
ing the first few days he went out frequently 
with Dr. Wadsworth, displaying much aptitude 
in the art of handling the treacherous little craft. 
Dr. Wadsworth, who had seldom been thrown into 
contact with him before, grew to like the lad and 
encouraged him to take care of the boat himself. 


280 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ There’s only one real danger on a lake like 
this, and that’s a squall,” he used to say. 
“ Storms come up mighty quickly, and, when you 
see suspicious clouds, the right procedure is to 
head for shore and wait patiently for trouble to 
pass. This kind of a vessel isn’t intended to 
weather a heavy gale. And remember, if you do 
get tipped over, cling to the canoe. You can al¬ 
ways hang on until you drift to shore; and that’s 
better than being drowned.” 

Just a week after their arrival, when Peter and 
Ikey had each been out several times with Dr. 
Wadsworth and had shown some skill in naviga¬ 
tion, he granted them permission after luncheon 
to take the long-anticipated voyage by them¬ 
selves. It was a glorious afternoon, perhaps a 
little sultry, but with a light breeze which miti¬ 
gated the heat, and the two lads, clad only in their 
bathing-suits, were on the lake burning them¬ 
selves even blacker in the torrid sun. There were 
little ripples up and down the water, and the 
wind was from the south,—a perfect combination 
for sailing. 

“ I don’t see anything very perilous about 
this,” commented Peter, who was lying com¬ 
fortably in the bottom of the canoe, watching the 


A RESCUE 231 

clouds on Panther Mountain while Ikey man¬ 
aged the steering. 

“Your dad exaggerated the danger a little, I 
guess, in order to make us careful,” replied Ikey, 
as he tacked successfully and steered for the 
other shore. 

For an hour they contented themselves with 
keeping fairly close to Snake Island, not eager to 
run any unnecessary risks. Then they headed 
for the wider part of the lake to the south, where 
it was a good two miles across. They were 
scudding along merrily before a spanking breeze 
when suddenly the wind seemed to die down, 
and they were left becalmed in the very middle 
of the lake. Even the little ripples ceased. 
Peter sat up and looked around him. 

“See, the sail’s just barely flopping! ” he said. 
“And look at that cloud there at the landing. 
There’s something funny about the weather. 
Maybe we’d better move on! ” 

The boys studied conditions for a moment, and 
then Ikey said, “ Yes, we’d better paddle to shore 
as your dad told us to do. Seems to me as if a 
storm were brewing. Get me a paddle, will 
you? ” 

Peter reached under the seat, fumbled around 


232 PETER HAD COURAGE 


for a while, and then devoted both hands to the 
search. Finally he said, “ I can’t seem to find 
any paddles here! ” 

“What! No paddles!” cried Ikey. “Why, 
your father always keeps them right there on 
the bottom,—two of them,—all ready in case of 
any emergency.” 

“ Well, we have the emergency, all right, but 
no paddles,” replied Peter positively. “ I’ll bet 
that Gige took them out this morning when he 
started with Beady in the big canoe for the 
island. I’m almost sure I saw him do it. And 
of course he forgot to put them back! ” 

“ That makes a fine mess,” exclaimed Ikey. 

“ W T hat’ll we do? ” inquired Peter irresolutely. 
“ There’s a big wind coming up, and we’re a good 
way from shore.” 

“ I know one thing,” announced Ikey. “ We’ve 
got to furl the sail and trust to luck without. If 
a tornado ever hits us with this canvas flapping 
around, we’ll be overboard in no time.” 

“ We’ll be over, anyway, I guess, without any 
paddles,” said Peter, looking at the nearest bank 
almost a mile away. “ But of course we’re better 
off without any canvas. Let’s take it down 
quickly.” 


A RESCUE 


233 


It was simple enough to accomplish this; and 
then the boys did their best, by paddling with 
their hands over the side, to make the canoe 
move to their own quarter of the lake, towards 
the west. The boat did progress, very slowly, 
in response to their vigorous efforts, but, as they 
were laboring, Ikey heard the low rumble of 
thunder, and, glancing up and wiping his fore¬ 
head. was astonished to see how black the clouds 
had become in the south. It was the direction 
from which the heaviest storms usually arrived. 

“ We’re going to get ducked, all right, Peter, 
old top,” he said. “ It’s lucky we’ve nothing but 
our bathing-suits on. If we go over now, we 
must just clutch hard at old Mister Canoe and 
then drift along with it until the breaking waves 
stop dashing high! ” 

It is a real tribute to the training which Dr. 
Wadsworth had imparted that neither boy showed 
the slightest trace of alarm. While both doubt¬ 
less comprehended that their situation might be 
serious, they did not let themselves become 
hysterical. Even before Peter had a chance to 
answer, a drop of rain hit his shoulder, and he 
began to feel the force of the storm. Magically, 
the oppressive calm became a whirl of wind,—on 


234 PETER HAD COURAGE 


a smaller scale much like the gale in a book by 
Joseph Conrad called Typhoon, which Peter 
had come across in a paper-covered edition on the 
book-shelves in the camp. Sudden swirls swept 
the little canoe this way and that, and Peter 
realized that, if the sail had been up, their light 
craft would have been upside down in a few 
seconds. As it was, it was tossed about and 
slowly filled with water, but it did not capsize. 
The thunder rolled louder over Panther Moun¬ 
tain; the skies darkened ominously, and white- 
caps appeared on the disturbed lake; and then 
came a furious blast of wind and rain, as if the 
heavens had concentrated for one terrific effort. 
Peter reached silently to Ikey and shook his 
hand. He had seen this gesture in the movies, 
and liked it! He was bound to admit that he 
looked upon their chances of escape as almost 
negligible, and he proposed to die hard, like Tom 
Mix or Bull Montana. But he did not lose his 
head, even in this crisis! He had observed in the 
darkness that the canoe was being driven at a 
rapid speed north towards Snake Island, which 
was now hardly a quarter of a mile off. 

Floundering in the trough of the waves, the 
canoe was now nearly full of water, and Peter 



Floundering in the trough of the waves, the canoe 

WAS NOW NEARLY FULL OF WATER .—Page 234 . 






A RESCUE 


235 


was sitting in a puddle. It no longer poised 
lightly at the crest of the whitecaps, but floated 
dead, like a log. There was nothing with which 
to bail, and it was clear that it would soon 
founder. 

“ We’d better jump over now while we can,” 
shouted Peter to Ikey. “ We’ll hang on to the 
canoe, and it’ll float easier without our weight in 
it. We’ve got to get into the water, anyhow, 
before very long.” 

Ikey nodded a silent approval, and the two 
lads climbed as gently as possible over the side 
into the choppy waves. The rain was coming 
down now like a waterfall, and the whitecaps 
were running so high that Peter felt as if he were 
rising and falling at least ten feet,—actually it 
was probably about four! As he clung there, it 
occurred to him that he ought to pray, but he had 
to work so desperately hard to retain his grip on 
the sides of the canoe that no words would come. 

Meanwhile, however, he had not forgotten the 
island, and, as he turned his head in that direc¬ 
tion, he could see what he had already suspected, 
—that they were being swept past the southern¬ 
most end,—a point of steep rock which they had 
named Cape Horn,—at a high speed, the shore 


236 PETER HAD COURAGE 


being not much more than a hundred feet away. 
Peter’s mind was of the type which functions 
clearly in an emergency. If they kept on as they 
were progressing, they would soon pass by Snake 
Island and be out in the broadest portion of 
Woodhull, exposed to the full sweep of the storm 
in a position where the chances of rescue would 
be very slender indeed. If they should, as a 
last resort, leave the canoe and strike out for 
the bank, they might conceivably reach land,— 
and safety! 

It was a moment for quick decisions. Ikey was 
facing away from Snake Island, and it was not 
easy to make him understand while the elements 
were howling; but Peter finally managed to 
elucidate his scheme. Ikey, who, although older 
and heavier than Peter, was not so good a 
swimmer, hesitated for a second, but then gritted 
his teeth, dropped his hands from the canoe, and 
started with a crawl stroke for the shore, Peter 
close behind him. It was hard work, for the wind 
and the waves carried them north along the coast, 
and they had to combat an unpleasant cross 
current. Slowly, very slowly, they made progress 
in a diagonal course, Peter holding himself back 
for the slower Ikey. 


A RESCUE 


237 


When they were still perhaps fifty feet from 
the bank, Ikey turned and glanced imploringly 
at Peter; he had spent his last ounce of strength 
and could see no way of keeping up longer. Then 
Peter, still comparatively fresh, reached his side 
in a stroke or two and shouted, “ Put your hand 
on my shoulder! ” Ikey, frightened though he 
was, nevertheless recalled still the instructions 
which he had received in the Life-Saving Class 
at Deepwater and had presence of mind enough 
to obey orders. As Peter drew nearer, Ikey 
reached out his hand to his friend’s broad back, 
trying to rest it there as lightly as possible. 

In experiments on Bailey’s Pond, Peter had 
often done this very thing, but now conditions 
were different. He struggled on, as if impeded 
by a great weight. He could see the bank close 
at hand,—very close,—but he felt that, en¬ 
cumbered as he was, it would be impossible for 
him to reach it. At last, when he was twenty 
feet away, a wave filled his mouth with water, 
and he sank,—only to have his feet touch a 
muddy bottom! The lake at that point was shal¬ 
low for some yards from the shore, and he had 
been swimming for two or three minutes in wa¬ 
ter which could have been only up to his shoul- 


238 PETER HAD COURAGE 

ders. A great thrill went through him as he felt 
something more or less solid beneath his feet, 
and, seizing Ikey by the arms, he literally dragged 
him in to shore. There the two boys lay, com¬ 
pletely exhausted, oblivious of the wind and the 
rain. 

After perhaps five minutes, when they were 
able to stir their limbs, they found that the wind 
was abating and that the heavy rain had turned 
into a drizzle. Gradually the boys regained their 
breath, and soon Ikey sat up on the gravelly 
shore, looking very much washed out, and said, 
“ Look here, Peter, you saved my life! I’d have 
gone down sure if you hadn’t helped me at just 
the right moment.” 

“ Oh, forget it,” replied the embarrassed hero, 
sitting up in his turn and stretching his arms as 
if to see whether they were still there. “ I don’t 
believe it was over your head there, anyhow.” 

“ Yes, it was! ” protested Ikey. “ I went down 
once four or five feet, and there was no bottom. 
I’m not going to kiss your hand or anything like 
that, but I shall never forget what you did.” 

“ Well, now that that ceremony is over, I feel 
just like Robinson Crusoe after the shipwreck. 
Don’t you? ” 


A RESCUE 


239 

“Yes, I guess so. But Ill bet that he had 
some clothes, and we haven’t,—and it’s cold 
here.” He shivered a little as he spoke, for his 
teeth were chattering. 

“ Come on, let’s get to the other side of the 
island,” urged Peter. “ We’ll build a fire there 
as a signal.” 

“ With what, oh, wise one? ” asked Ikey satir¬ 
ically. “ With damp sticks and a bathing-suit, 
I suppose! ” 

“ That did sound a little crazy,” confessed 
Peter. “ But anyhow we ought to reach a place 
where they can see us when it clears.” 

So, in their bare feet and with bushes scratch¬ 
ing their legs, they laboriously struggled around 
the southern end of the island and across the 
rocky top of Cape Horn to a point where they 
could detect the Wadsworth cabin through the 
mist. It was just dark enough, however, to keep 
them from securing a clear view of anything at 
that distance. Climbing to the peak of the tall¬ 
est rock around them, they shouted in unison, 
giving the peculiar yodel which was employed by 
the Followers of Deerfoot; but the wind was now 
from the west, and their combined voices could 
not carry across the intervening space. It looked 


240 PETER HAD COURAGE 

as if they might have to spend a cold and un¬ 
comfortable night upon the island. 

“ I shouldn’t mind so much if it were not for 
Mother’s worrying,” explained Peter. “ If they 
explore the lake and find the canoe upside down, 
they’ll think we’ve been drowned sure, like the 
boys in Tom Sawyer; and then they’ll begin to 
drag Woodhull for the bodies. That isn’t very 
pleasant. Perhaps when it quiets down a bit I 
can swim back to camp.” 

“ I’m pretty tired,” confessed Ikey. “ As I feel 
now, I’d a good deal rather wait until morning. 
There are berries here,—I saw them yesterday 
when we were exploring! And I’m almost cer¬ 
tain that we left some matches in the Robber’s 
Cave when we ate our lunch there. We’ll be 
fairly warm in there with a fire.” 

“ I’ve got it,” said Peter, who did not seem 
at all satisfied with Ikey’s easy solution of their 
problems. “ Why can’t we take a log or a big 
board, if we can find one, and push it across. 
It’s only a little distance, after all, and, even if 
you do get tired, you won’t sink. Let’s try 
it! ” 

“ Noble idea ! ” said Ikey, as the goose-flesh 
tickled his skin. “ The water will be warmer 


A RESCUE 241 

than this, anyway. Let's go on a board-hunting 
expedition." 

Hurrying down from their exposed lookout, the 
boys limped along the shore, investigating the 
driftwood. At last Peter saw a huge maple log, 
at least ten feet long and a foot in diameter. It 
was water-soaked, but still floating, and he 
viewed it with some satisfaction. 

“ It's just what we want," he declared, as he 
pushed it out into deeper water. “ It won't sink 
under us, and we can sit astraddle of it and pad¬ 
dle it along with some boards. We'll be back 
home in no time at all! " 

An ancient cracker-box thrown up by the storm 
furnished the desired paddles, and the two lads 
were off once more on a new voyage, moving 
slowly but steadily and safely to the western 
shore. When they had achieved half the distance, 
they heard a tremendous shout and saw a row¬ 
boat coming up the lake from the south. As it 
drew nearer, they were glad to see that it held 
Mrs. Wadsworth and the two boys, Gige and 
Beady. 

“ Thank Heaven, you're not drowned! " ex¬ 
claimed Mrs. Wadsworth, with a great sigh of 
relief, as they approached. “ We’ve been out 


242 PETER HAD COURAGE 


hunting, and we couldn’t find you or the canoe 
anywhere. I’ve been really worried.” 

“ Dad’s out in the motor-boat with Ed Locke,” 
cried Gige, who was greatly excited. “ They’ve 
gone to the head of the lake while we stayed at 
this end.” 

Peter and Ikey were glad enough to abandon 
their sluggish log and transfer themselves to the 
more comfortable rowboat. On their way in, 
they told the story in broken sentences, inter¬ 
rupted by the exclamations of their auditors. As 
they stepped on the wharf, they could hear the 
motor-boat puffing, and soon Dr. Wadsworth, 
with Ed Locke as his companion, appeared, 
towing the sailing canoe behind them. His re¬ 
lief when he saw Peter and Ikey was unbounded; 
but he said little about the suspense to which he 
had been subjected. Instead he hustled them 
off to get rubbed down and properly clothed. 

“ Well, boys,” began Dr. Wadsworth, as Peter 
and Ikey an hour later sat drinking hot coffee in 
front of a roaring fire in the living-room, “ you 
showed yourselves to be very resourceful. I’m 
proud of you! ” 

“ Peter deserves all the credit,” interposed 
Ikey. “ He saved my life, and it was his 


A RESCUE 243 

brain that thought out the plan for getting to 
shore.” 

“ Rats! ” was Peter’s comment. “ If you hadn’t 
had the intelligence to keep cool, we’d have both 
been at the bottom of the lake.” 

“ So far as I can see,” observed Dr. Wadsworth, 
“ the fact that you both could swim helped a 
little, didn’t it? ” 

“ I’m glad you let us learn to swim early,” said 
Peter gratefully. “And you were absolutely right 
about sticking by the canoe when it went over.” 

“ It’s pleasant for us parents to hear that we 
didn’t entirely fail in bringing you up,” said 
Mrs. Wadsworth. “And now I suggest, as a 
mother, that you pile into bed for a rest from 
your exciting day.” 

Neither boy protested against this ruling, and 
within fifteen minutes the house was a dormi¬ 
tory. But for many months to come the boys 
had stories to tell of their adventures in the 
storm 


CHAPTER XI 


THE PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 

Summer went by, and the Wadsworth family 
returned from their vacation at Lake Woodhull, 
very much refreshed. There was a brief interval 
before school began once more, and then came 
the long delightful autumn, with its nut gath¬ 
ering and its football and its crisp cool days. It 
did not end until the boys listened in on the 
account of the Harvard-Yale game which came 
through the air to the radio set which had been 
bought with the Stamp Fund. 

When winter descended upon Deepwater, it 
fell with certainty and lingered long. About 
Thanksgiving time the oldest inhabitants began 
to look for the first snowfall, and by Christmas 
the ground was usually covered to a depth of a 
foot or two on the level, not to be clear again 
until the coming of April, when the streets were 
filled for two or three weeks with slush and mud. 
Through January and February, storms were fre¬ 
quent, often so severe as to be called blizzards, 

and the drifts were sometimes very high. Dr, 

244 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 245 


Wadsworth had no “ hired man/’ and, being him¬ 
self an indefatigable worker, believed that every 
boy should be brought to perform certain definite 
tasks. Thus, when Peter was only eight or nine, 
he had to master the technique of the snow- 
shovel,—a small one, adjusted to his size and 
strength,—and assist his father to clear the side¬ 
walks and piazzas. The two of them, father and 
son, were regularly out before breakfast, piling 
the snow on either side of the front walk until 
it was over Peter’s head. After one unprece¬ 
dented storm, Peter discovered one morning that 
there was a drift on the north side of the house 
up to the second-story window, and he actually 
later in the day slid on his toboggan from his 
room to the ground,—a vertical distance of twelve 
feet when the snow had melted. When the drifts 
were as big as this, the Followers of Deerfoot 
resorted to tunneling, sometimes constructing a 
system of excavations which resembled the in¬ 
terior of a mine. 

Peter and Gige were not brought up, like some 
lads of the present generation, to dread the win¬ 
ter. When the snow was not too deep, there was 
skating on Dead Pond, a stagnant body of water 
beyond Curtis’s Woods, at the end of the street, 


246 PETER HAD COURAGE 

which froze early in the season and was always 
safe. It was far from being like a city skating- 
rink. The boys had to clear the pond them¬ 
selves, and it was frequently a difficult job. This 
done, they would build up a fire beside some 
fallen log at the edge of the ice, where they could 
take refuge when hands and feet were congealed. 
There would be glorious moonlit evenings when 
Dr. Wadsworth and his friends at the Dalton 
Club, lured by the fascination of romance, would 
join the boys, and there would be a gay gather¬ 
ing on the pond. But there were also long periods 
when the accumulation of snow was too deep and 
heavy to remove, and skating had to be aban¬ 
doned for other pastimes. 

There was nearly always coasting down Mill 
Street or Railroad Hill, where automobiles passed 
only seldom. The sleds were big “ double-run¬ 
ners,” or “ bobs,” constructed at the local carpen¬ 
ter’s shop, and holding seven or eight people 
closely packed. A few of the more elegant of 
these sleds were steered by a wheel taken from 
a discarded Ford, the steersman sitting up like 
the driver of an automobile. The majority, how¬ 
ever, were controlled by ropes, and often the pilot 
would lie on his stomach,—in the style known 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 247 


locally as “ belly bump,”—gripping the runners 
of the front sled and guiding it with his arms. 
When the roads had been packed down, these 
“ bobs ” could go literally like the wind, the pas¬ 
sengers yelling madly all the way down to warn 
pedestrians of the approaching menace. It was 
a somewhat hazardous sport under some condi¬ 
tions, but parents rarely investigated it, and the 
children were left very much to themselves after 
school hours until supper time. 

If Dr. Wadsworth had known that Peter had 
been dubbed “ Dare Devil ” because of his will¬ 
ingness to undertake any feat to which he was 
challenged, he might have worried about his off¬ 
spring, but this was a subject upon which Peter 
himself was reticent. Fortunately, outside of the 
inevitable minor bruises and sprains, the boys 
escaped without serious injury, even when Peter, 
to avoid an automobile, deliberately steered a 
crowded “ double-runner ” away from the road 
and over a fence to the Big Creek, where, the 
ice being thin, it broke through, leaving the 
alarmed passengers in two or three feet of chilly 
water. Acting on Peter’s advice, they all ran 
home as fast as their wet clothes would permit, 
and no cases of pneumonia resulted. 


248 PETER HAD COURAGE 

Another winter recreation was sleigh-riding. 
On some clear and nipping February evening, 
Peter and his friends would secure their parents’ 
permission, and, after asking one of the attractive 
young women teachers to be a chaperone, would 
engage a heavy “ pung ” drawn by two horses 
from the Deepwater stable,—in country villages 
like Deepwater there are still stables and horses! 
Straw would be spread over the bottom, and the 
boys and girls would then pack themselves in, 
one of the older and more sophisticated boys con¬ 
stituting himself the guardian of the chaperone. 
To the merry jingling of the bells and the sing¬ 
ing of the members of the party, they would 
drive to Danville, a village five miles away where 
there was an inn which could serve a simple sup¬ 
per of oyster stew and crackers and pie. After 
filling up on hot food and drink, the young peo¬ 
ple would then start back again, sitting close to¬ 
gether to keep warm. It was simple, harmless 
amusement, but Peter liked it less than other 
sports because it involved girls,—and Peter did 
not care for girls! 

To Peter Wadsworth at fourteen, the vilest in¬ 
sult which could be offered was to be called a 
“ sissy.” During the preceding summer and 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 249 


autumn he had grown taller and heavier, and his 
voice had begun to change, turning in a strange 
manner from a shrill treble to a gruff bass, which 
he could not control. A fluffy down, appearing 
on his smooth cheeks, had led his father to pre¬ 
sent him at Christmas with a safety razor, and 
accessories, and Gige had been much amused to 
see his older brother using these articles. Peter’s 
efforts were devoted to preserving his masculinity. 
In his circle the epithet “ sissy ” always meant a 
fight, unless the recipient were a coward,—and 
even then he was usually goaded into battle by 
some of the many devices known to boys. He 
hated anything that smacked of effeminacy, even 
protesting against “ dressing up ” for parties in 
a stiff linen collar on the ground that this form 
of decoration was “ sissified.” He did his best 
to brush his naturally curly hair down straight. 
Even washing his face and hands and cleaning 
his teeth seemed to him decidedly unmasculine 
habits, against which he was inclined to rebel. 
As for deliberately seeking the society of any 
of the girls in the school, that seemed to him to 
be ridiculous. Girls were silly creatures, who 
couldn’t play football or baseball, and who spent 
most of their time giggling and whispering to- 


250 PETER HAD COURAGE 

gether. When one of them smiled alluringly at 
Peter, he fled like a coward. And he would have 
gone a mile out of his way to avoid walking with 
one of them to school. 

When he had come back to Deepwater from 
Lake Woodhull, Mrs. Wadsworth had made ar¬ 
rangements for Peter to take piano lessons from 
Miss Reilly,—and how he hated it! 

“ Aw, Moms,” he would groan in despair, “ real 
fellows don’t play the piano. I hate to have 
Mucker and Ikey think that I’m nothing but a 
sissy! ” 

“ But, my son, there’s nothing silly about mu¬ 
sic. Look at Paderewski,—he became President 
of Poland! Doesn’t Dad play the piano himself? 
Nobody ever called him effeminate! ” 

“ Yes, but none of the other guys do it.” This 
is always, with a boy, the supreme convincing ar¬ 
gument. To be different from the others is not 
merely an indiscretion but a crime! 

“ But, Peter, if you keep practising now, even 
though it may seem like hard work, you’re going 
some day to get lots of pleasure from it. And 
when you’re in college, you’ll be mighty glad that 
you can play while your friends sit around and 
listen.” 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 251 

“ But they’re all girls in Miss Reilly’s class! ” 
This was said in the most contemptuous of tones. 

“ Well, you’ve got to do it,” said Mrs. Wads¬ 
worth with firm, decisive tones. “ I know what’s 
best for you, and there’ll be no more argument.” 

When Mrs. Wadsworth spoke in this way, even 
to her husband, discussion ceased. Peter con¬ 
tinued to take his lessons regularly on Thursday 
afternoons, but there may be some question as 
to the quality of enthusiasm which he displayed 
in practising. A close observer might have no¬ 
ticed that, when Mrs. Wadsworth was within 
hearing, Peter ran scales vigorously, if not always 
accurately; but when she disappeared again into 
the kitchen, the listless mood returned and he 
dallied with the keys in the spirit of one to whom 
Schubert and Beethoven and Liszt meant noth¬ 
ing except toil,—futile toil. 

When Peter had passed his fourteenth birth¬ 
day, in January, his mother suddenly announced 
that he was enrolled in Miss Timian’s dancing- 
class. Against such tyranny Peter’s rebellious 
spirit protested. 

“ Say, Moms, have I got to go to that old danc¬ 
ing-class? That’s awful! All the other guys will 
call me a perfect lady! ” 


252 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ Oh, no, they won’t, dear. The little Bennett 
boy is going, and the two Webster boys, and 
Aubrey Terry, and plenty of others that you as¬ 
sociate with. We mothers have talked it all over, 
and it’s settled! ” 

“Are there going to be any girls there? ” 

“ Of course! You can’t have a dancing-school 
without girls! Mildred Wilson and Agnes Allen 
and Lulu Peck and Blanche King,—all the little 
girls you know will be there.” How Peter hated 
to hear his mother refer to “ little boys ” and 
“little girls” ! Was he not grown up? He al¬ 
ways referred to the Followers of Deerfoot as 
“ fellows ” or “ guys ” or “ men.” 

“ That’s terrible, Moms! And I suppose we’ll 
have to dance with them,—that homely Betty 
Fisher and all the rest! ” 

“ That’s what a dancing-school is for,—to teach 
you how to get along with girls! ” 

“ Gee, Moms, I don’t ever want to see a girl! 
I just want to play with boys. I hate girls,— 
all of ’em! They haven’t any sense! ” 

Mrs. Wadsworth was a trifle flustered at this 
wholesale condemnation of her sex, but she still 
insisted, and to the dancing-school Peter went, 
garbed neatly in a blue serge suit,—his Sunday 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 253 

best,—a white collar and new shiny patent leather 
slippers. He had never felt more uncomfortable 
in his life. Sure enough, on that first momentous 
Friday afternoon, most of his friends were pres¬ 
ent,—Beady, Leaky, Charlie and Hal Webster, 
even Goldy Goldberg,—all except Mucker Wright, 
Frank Green, Ikey Warren, and a few others 
whose families despised the social graces. The 
outsiders, or pariahs, like Mucker jeered at the 
prospective dancers as they entered Grange Hall, 
but Peter kept his fists clenched and threatened 
dire vengeance on any one who molested him. 

Miss Timian had a difficult task. The mothers 
who sat, like Mrs. Wadsworth, and watched their 
children going timidly and awkwardly through 
the rudimentary steps had to admit that she was 
very patient,—very, very patient. The girls, of 
course, were tractable and looked pretty in their 
white dresses; but the boys were repeatedly shov¬ 
ing one another about and making half-audible 
remarks of a tenor not flattering to the young 
ladies who were present. When Peter was in¬ 
structed by Miss Timian to put his right arm 
around the waist of Miss Elizabeth Fisher, who 
lived down the street from his house and loved to 
stick her tongue out at him as he went by on the 


254 PETER HAD COURAGE 


way to school, his face assumed an expression of 
martyrdom, and he encircled the lady as if he 
were caressing a poisonous serpent; while she 
looked as innocent and demure as the little angel 
which she wasn’t! As Peter moved clumsily 
through the unfamiliar motions of the dance and 
even trod heavily on her toes, she turned, looked 
in his fiery eyes, and said in a low voice, “ Why, 
Peter, you’re just as light as a fairy! ” Peter’s 
teeth ground against each other in despair, for 
there was no escape! The walls were lined with 
proud parents, each one gazing fondly at her 
own son or daughter and incidentally comment¬ 
ing on the offspring of others. Betty Fisher’s 
mother, for instance, leaned over to Mrs. Ben¬ 
nett and said, “ What an awkward uninteresting 
boy that Peter Wadsworth is! He doesn’t seem 
to have the slightest bit of grace.” 

“ Oh, he’s at the unmanageable age,” responded 
Mrs. Bennett, who had herself brought up six 
boys, of whom Beady was the youngest. “ He’ll 
get over his shyness in a year or two. Then you 
won’t recognize him,—and his mother won’t! 
And your Betty will be a whole lot kinder to him 
then than she is now.” 

Somehow Peter survived this initial ordeal, 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 255 

mainly because he had the support of some com¬ 
panions in misery, and there was less complaining 
as the winter went on. Dancing-school was held 
every week, and Peter regularly begged to be 
excused; but his objections gradually became less 
persistent. It was in late February that Mrs. 
Wadsworth, on a certain Thursday evening, 
paused in her sewing and recollected that some¬ 
thing was missing in the usual routine of the 
house. Yes,—Peter had not favored her with 
his customary tirade against dancing-school and 
girls! For the first time within her memory, he 
was apparently submitting to his lesson without 
a protest. And then it occurred to her that she 
had not recently attended the dancing-school to 
see how things were getting on. It was her duty 
as a mother to watch what progress her son and 
heir had been making. 

When Mrs. Wadsworth, on the following after¬ 
noon, entered Grange Hall and took her seat be¬ 
side Mrs. Webster and Mrs. Bennett, she was 
astounded to see Peter gliding not ungracefully 
over the floor in a fox trot, holding in his arms a 
little curly-headed girl whose cheek dropped al¬ 
most intimately towards his shoulder. When the 
couple came in her direction, Mrs. Wadsworth 


256 PETER HAD COURAGE 


recognized her as Kitty Adams, the daughter of 
the minister of the First Presbyterian Church,— 
a girl who had only recently come to town when 
her father had accepted a new pastorate. Mrs. 
Wadsworth had seen her, but had paid little at¬ 
tention to her before. She was fully two years 
older than Peter, but no taller. “ Just a little 
overdressed! ” thought Mrs. Wadsworth, as she 
inspected the silk stockings, the carefully ar¬ 
ranged blonde hair, and the blue gown with its 
broad sash. But instead of bursting out, she sat 
down for a moment beside Miss Timian and con¬ 
gratulated her on the fine progress made by her 
pupils. 

“ Peter is dancing again with the little Adams 
girl, I see/’ she remarked casually, as if it were 
a matter of indifference to her. 

“ Oh, yes,” answered the teacher. “ He seems 
to choose her as a partner most of the time. In 
fact, she’s the only one that seems to be able to 
make him keep step as he ought to do.” 

When the music for that dance had ceased, 
Kitty came with Peter back to Miss Timian, 
where Mrs. Wadsworth smiled at her and shook 
her hand. Peter meanwhile had on his counte¬ 
nance an expression so completely fatuous that 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 257 


his mother could hardly restrain herself. But she 
managed somehow to keep her self-control and 
said, “ You dance very well, Kitty.” 

“ She’s the best dancer here, Mother,” inter¬ 
posed Peter, in a manner which admitted of no 
debate. 

“ Oh, Peter, you’re such a flatterer,” simpered 
the Adams girl, her eyes rolling in what she must 
have thought to be a most seductive way,—a way 
indicating a sophistication which amazed Mrs. 
Wadsworth. Just then the violin struck up once 
more, and Peter swung off with Kitty as his 
partner again. To Mrs. Wadsworth’s cautious in¬ 
quiries, Miss Timian replied, “ He simply won’t 
dance with any one else; and, just as long as he 
seems to be improving, I’ve let him continue. 
Peter had a fight last week with another boy who 
wanted to dance with Kitty twice in succession. 
When she can’t dance with him, he just stands in 
a corner and looks sad.” 

Here was news for Mrs. Wadsworth! And then 
she recalled one or two suspicious facts which 
had come to her notice. Peter, who had always 
objected to putting on neat clothes, had recently 
been detected in the act of carrying off one of his 
father’s gaudier neckties to wear on Sunday to 


258 PETER HAD COURAGE 

church, and he had begun to ask questions about 
a new spring suit,—with long trousers and turned- 
up cuffs. Incidentally she had seen him once 
or twice actually blacking his shoes,—a perform¬ 
ance hitherto unheard of! Taken separately, 
these incidents meant nothing at all; the cumula¬ 
tive effect, however, as she looked back over the 
past month, was startling. And then corrobora¬ 
tive evidence came to her mind. She remembered 
that he had accepted invitations to several parties 
at which girls were to be guests,—accepted with¬ 
out a single word of grumbling. Surely she had 
been a blind mother! She watched Peter’s face 
as he passed her again,—it expressed the very 
ecstasy of idiotic contentment! He had unmis¬ 
takably changed! 

Now Mrs. Wadsworth was a very sensible and 
tactful woman. Some mothers might have in¬ 
dulged in caustic criticism, thus only confirming 
Peter in his affection. Instead she just asked a 
few questions, never indicating that she was dis¬ 
gusted with his choice. A few days later she sug¬ 
gested to Peter that it was time for him to give 
a party to pay back some of his social obliga¬ 
tions. 

“ That’s bully, Moms! ” said Peter joyfully. 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 259 

“ Should you like to have girls or not? ” asked 
Mrs. Wadsworth, feeling her way. 

“Yes, I guess so,” answered Peter, with as¬ 
sumed carelessness. 

“ Whom do you want? ” 

“ Oh, Mildred Wilson, of course, and Lulu Peck, 
and the others in that set. And I suppose we’ll 
have to invite that awful Betty Fisher. And 
don’t you think we might have that pretty new 
girl, Kitty Adams? ” 

“ You may pick any one you want. This is 
your entertainment,” said Mrs. Wadsworth, smil¬ 
ing at Peter’s effort to imitate the ostrich,—think¬ 
ing that he was wholly concealed when only his 
head was hidden in the sand. 

And so Kitty Adams came, dressed, in Mrs. 
Wadsworth’s prejudiced eyes, very elaborately, 
with a gorgeous pink sash and gigantic pink bows 
in her hair. “ She must have a very foolish 
mother,” thought the hostess as she looked down 
at the pale cheeks of the little girl and heard her 
say, “ Good-evening, Mithuth Wadsworth.” 

“ 0 dear, she lisps! ” thought Mrs. Wadsworth. 
“ How horrible! And, judging by her build, she 
can’t take any exercise. She’s just a ridiculous 
doll. I thought Peter would show more intelli- 


260 PETER HAD COURAGE 


gence.” But Mrs. Wadsworth kissed her, a little 
astonished to find her reeking with cheap per¬ 
fumery, and then turned to her other guests, 
wondering what blindness it is which makes males 
select women whom other women cannot respect 
or like. 

The party was in most respects a complete 
success. The boys and girls played games, 
danced, and ate with the minimum of inter¬ 
ference from their elders, who came on the scene 
only when the murmur of the guests became pan¬ 
demonium. Peter devoted himself mainly to 
Kitty, who did not care to participate in the more 
active diversions of the others. Instead she sat 
in a corner, neatly immaculate, each curl in 
proper position, criticising the conduct of the oth¬ 
ers, while Peter sat near in an attitude of dumb 
adoration. Dr. Wadsworth, who had not observed 
this phase before, said to himself, “ The boy is 
certainly degenerating into an idiot! ” And it 
was peculiar that Peter, who had once been the 
noisiest, the most enthusiastic, of his gang should 
now have become so subdued and retiring, as if 
he were Samson shorn of his locks and deprived 
of his strength. If he had been a little less for¬ 
midable physically, some of his own crowd would 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 261 

have ridiculed him out of his infatuation; but he 
was still a dangerous antagonist, and even his 
closest friends, like Beady, did not dare to inter¬ 
fere beyond smiling significantly when he did 
something particularly absurd. 

It was later that evening that the crisis in 
Peter's madness arrived. When the time came 
for farewells, Peter put on his overcoat and 
stepped to Kitty's side to escort her to her home 
on the next street. Dr. Wadsworth opened his 
mouth to say something, but his wife pulled his 
coat-sleeve, and he desisted. As the boy and 
girl walked along together under the February 
moon, with the snow-drifts gleaming white around 
them, the sentimental Peter said to the fur-clad 
figure at his side, in his shy fashion, “ Some day 
I hope we'll have a home of our own, Kitty." 

“ What in the world do you mean, Peter Wads¬ 
worth ? " 

“ Why, just that we’ll get married and all 
that! " 

“ Oh, you're too young to think of getting 
married," replied Kitty, carelessly and cruelly. 
“You’re only fourteen, and you won’t even be 
through college for seven or eight years. Be¬ 
sides I'm going to marry Tommy Hawkins." 


262 PETER HAD COURAGE 


“ Who’s he? ” 

“ He’s a fellow I uthed to know in Spwingfield 
before I came here. He’s thwee years older than 
I am, and he’s in Harvard now. His father’s a 
millionaire.” 

“ Do you 1-1-1-love him? ” asked Peter. 

“ I guess so. He’s awful good-looking and nice, 
—and he’s a wonderful hockey player! ” 

“ But you let me kiss you the other night after 
the Bennett party, didn’t you? ” 

“That didn’t mean anything, silly! You’re 
just a kid, a lot younger than I am! Why, I’ll 
be married before you’ve even entered college.” 

“ But, Kitty, I thought you were going to be 
my girl for ever and ever.” 

“ Ridiculous! You’ll forget about me in two 
weeks. I’m much too old for you; and besides 
your family haven’t any money.” 

Peter’s romantic nature had nothing to reply to 
such practicality. He had never given a thought 
as to whether Kitty had a cent to her name. He 
loved her, and would love her as long as he lived. 
Then Kitty laughed,—the supreme insult! 

“ You poor boy! ” she said. “ You do look as 
if you had lost your last friend! And I was hav¬ 
ing such a good time flirting with you.” 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 263 

u Flirting! ” answered Peter in a voice intended 
to be scathing. “ Flirting! ” 

“ Yeth,” she lisped in reply. “ That’th all it 
wath! ” 

What more could Peter do? His heart was 
broken,—he had almost felt it crack at her light 
words. He went a few steps farther with her to 
the gate of the Adams house and was about to 
burst out in denunciation of her infamy, when 
the door opened and her father,—a tall, schol¬ 
arly-looking man, who did not understand his 
daughter,—appeared. 

“ Good-evening, young sir,” he said. “ Thank 
you for escorting Kitty home.” 

Peter was completely inarticulate. To the 
Reverend Mr. Adams’s astonishment, the boy 
simply turned his back without a word and 
walked off. As he strolled slowly back, oblivious 
to the beauty of the moonlight, he was convinced 
that life had nothing more to offer him. The 
hero in a book which he had recently read had 
muttered at some such moment, “ I have lived 
and loved! ” “That’s the way it is with me,” 
thought Peter, “ I have lived through a great 
deal in my short career,—and I have loved as few 
men have ever done! ” Women were deceivers; 


264 PETER HAD COURAGE 

life was a delusion; beauty was a snare. He had 
tasted the grand passion and found it ashes. 
Well, he would go on as best he could, even 
though all the zest was gone. He would live life 
to the end, a proud and broken man. 

He had expected to toss feverishly on his bed, 
muttering the name of his loved one at inter¬ 
vals; but somehow his rest was sound, and he 
woke up the next day with his soul full of resent¬ 
ment rather than of despair. A boy of fourteen 
cannot remain gloomy very long, even when he 
is crossed in love. It was only a day or two be¬ 
fore Mrs. Wadsworth, with her shrewd mother’s 
observation, began to notice symptoms of recov¬ 
ery in her enamored son. He was less particular 
about the hue of his cravats; his shoes remained 
unpolished from morning to night; his hair was 
allowed to go uncombed. Even his gentleness,— 
which had disturbed his mother greatly,—was 
reverting to his former boisterousness. Once 
more he began to complain of dancing-school. 
Then one day she happened to overhear a con¬ 
versation between Peter and his brother, Gige. 

“ What’s the matter with Hal nowadays? ” 
Gige was inquiring. 

“ Oh, he’s in love with that Betty Fisher! ” 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 265 


said Peter in a disgusted tone. “ He’s always 
writing her notes and trying to walk home from 
school with her. He’s a poor saphead! If he 
knew what she really is, he wouldn’t behave so 
foolishly.” 

“ By the way, what’s become of Kitty 
Adams? ” asked Gige a moment or two later, as 
if an idea had just occurred to him. 

“ That light-haired girl? I don’t know. She’s 
still around, I guess.” 

“ You used to see her all the time,” said the 
canny younger brother. “ What’s the matter, 
Peter? Did she give you the hook? ” 

“ Look here, Gige,” said Peter sternly and ear¬ 
nestly. “You cut out gossiping about her or 
you’ll be sorry! Maybe I was a fool,—I’m ready 
to admit it,—but that’s my business. Just let 
me give you a little advice,—don’t get mixed up 
with women who are older than you are! It 
doesn’t pay.” He spoke with the assurance of 
a disillusioned man of the world. 

“Why not?” inquired Gige innocently, in a 
manner calculated to invite confidences. 

“ Just because I say so. I’m wise to all their 
games.” At that point Mrs. Wadsworth thought 
it best to enter and interrupt the conversation. 


266 PETER HAD COURAGE 

She was sensible enough to understand that Peter 
had been inoculated against such infatuations for 
some time to come,—just as children are vacci¬ 
nated for smallpox. He would be a normal mas¬ 
culine animal at least for another year or two. 

There was only one more session of the danc¬ 
ing-school. Andy Benton was a boy two years 
younger than Peter, and therefore in Gige’s gang, 
but Peter knew him well and used to see him 
often. He was a frail-looking lad, with white 
cheeks and thin legs, who rarely joined with the 
other boys in their rough sports. Everybody 
liked Andy, but he was no match for any fellow 
of his own age in an outdoor game. His father, 
Mr. Augustus Benton, was one of the richest men 
in Deepwater, and Andy was an only child, 
spoiled, of course, for he always had plenty of 
money to spend and he was eager to treat his 
friends in his generous way. 

On a Friday afternoon in March, Andy did not 
appear at the dancing-school, and Miss Timian 
explained that he was not well. When Peter 
walked by the Benton house the next morning, he 
saw there a square yellow placard with the words 
“ Quarantine ” printed on it; and that noon his 
father asked him several questions as to when he 


PANGS OF DESPISED LOVE 207 

had last talked with Andy. Dr. Wadsworth 
seemed much relieved when he was told that 
neither Peter nor Gige had seen Andy for some 
days. 

“ The little fellow has spinal meningitis,” ex¬ 
plained the physician to his wife. “And he hasn't 
any resistance at all against disease. Things are 
going badly with him.” 

Three days later Dr. Wadsworth appeared at 
dinner in the evening looking very serious. 

“ Your little friend, Andy Benton, died this 
afternoon,” he said, trying to speak in a natural 
voice. 

“ Isn't that too bad! ” exclaimed Mrs. Wads¬ 
worth. “ He's the only child the Bentons have 
too, with all their money! Peter and Gige must 
send some flowers to the funeral.” 

Peter up to this moment was quite unfamiliar 
with death, except with animals. His father, 
during his duties as a physician, had naturally 
spoken from time to time of the passing of dif¬ 
ferent people in the village. But Peter had never 
really confronted it as a factor in his own daily 
life. Coming home from school the next morn¬ 
ing, he noticed the white ribbons on the door and 
inquired as to their significance. The children 


268 


PETER HAD COURAGE 


who had known Andy spoke in hushed voices, as 
if something deeply mysterious had touched them. 
Principal Harlow addressed the entire school, tell¬ 
ing them of Andy’s death and asking the girls 
and boys to bring money with them the next day 
to buy a wreath for their lost friend. Then, on 
the afternoon of the funeral, school was closed. 

Peter was not allowed to attend the funeral 
services, and it was not altogether easy for him 
to imagine what had happened. He tried to pic¬ 
ture little Andy as he would look, cold and still, 
in his coffin, but it was difficult. For a day or 
two his mind was obsessed by the terror of death, 
and his face had a solemn expression. Then the 
mood passed, as such moods will with the young, 
and he was again his usual cheerful self,—a boy 
who had been disillusioned in love and had seen 
death take away a companion, but who, in spite 
of these tragic experiences, could still find some¬ 
thing to live for. After all, spring had come,— 
and it was impossible to be despondent during a 
Deepwater spring! 


CHAPTER XII 


THE GREAT RACE 

A happy combination of a good physical in¬ 
heritance with a regular outdoor life had made 
Peter and Gige Wadsworth into healthy and mus¬ 
cular boys. Peter had not been brought up to be 
an idler. We have already described how hard 
he worked shoveling snow in the winter; and, in 
the summer, there was the lawn to mow once a 
week and the car to wash and other chores to do. 
There was a period of two weeks or more during 
July, furthermore, when Dr. Wadsworth insisted 
that the lad should go haying. He was given a 
job under a kind-hearted farmer, Fred Tynan, a 
friend of Dr. Wadsworth’s, and rode to the field 
each day on his bicycle, a distance of two miles. 
Dr. Wadsworth was in most respects an indulgent 
parent, but he had theories, one of which was a 
resolve that his boys should learn what it means 
to toil with one’s hands. When Peter found that 
it took him all day and a prodigious amount of 

sweat and exertion to earn two dollars for him- 

269 


270 PETER HAD COURAGE 


self, he became much more careful about money. 
He could translate candy and ice-cream soda into 
terms of hours spent pitching hay, and he quickly 
balanced one against the other. All the while, 
moreover, he was developing his muscles and stor¬ 
ing up energy for future emergencies. 

In all sports Peter was a natural leader. His 
was an active and original mind, restless and con¬ 
stantly seeking new channels of entertainment. 
It was he usually who conceived plans for amuse¬ 
ment and carried them through. There were the 
traditional games which could be played at re¬ 
cess on the hard baked playground at school. 
“ Pom-pom-pullaway ” was one which could be 
easily and quickly organized, and leap-frog was 
another pastime of which the boys seldom be¬ 
came tired. “ Shinny,”—played with an old tin 
can and heavy sticks with a knob at the end,— 
required more of an equipment and was reserved 
for the dirt circle in the center of the park. It 
was no gentle game, for the sticks were flying 
in all directions, as in ice hockey, and bruises 
and cuts were very common. Marbles and Mum- 
blety-peg had their respective seasons, and were 
followed by various crude forms of baseball, such 
as “One 01’ Cat! ” and “ Choosin’ Up Sides! ” 


THE GREAT RACE 


271 


Of such an aristocratic sport as golf, Peter knew 
nothing until he went away to “ prep ” school. 

Peter had more daring and aggressiveness than 
most of his comrades in Deepwater. He was an 
extensive reader, and, although he had as yet 
never seen a college, he kept in touch with inter¬ 
collegiate contests, in the newspaper and over the 
radio, and had taken from the village library all 
the available stories on school athletics, including 
books by Ralph Henry Barbour, Owen Johnson, 
A. T. Dudley, and others. Soon after he was 
born, his parents planned to send him to Andover, 
and he had begun looking forward to that school 
as soon as he was able to walk about. It was 
arranged that, when he graduated from grammar 
school, he was to enter that famous old Massa¬ 
chusetts institution. It is no wonder, then, that 
he pondered long over the rules for baseball, foot¬ 
ball, and other sports, and thrilled with delight 
when he heard that Andover had beaten her 
ancient rival, Exeter, at one of them. 

It is characteristic of Peter that, when he was 
only twelve, he organized a grammar school base¬ 
ball nine and arranged games with schools in the 
vicinity. There were plenty of difficulties to be 
overcome: Frank Green, the best pitcher, was 


272 PETER HAD COURAGE 


never sure when he could get away from his 
father’s fruit-stand on Saturdays; and Ed Ballou, 
the one fellow who could wear a mask and catch 
behind the bat, often had to work at home when 
his services were badly needed elsewhere. But 
there were occasions when, through sheer per¬ 
sistence, Peter assembled seven or eight fellows, 
and then the team would ride on bicycles to 
Ridgefield Center to play a similar group of 
farmer boys. Peter’s own position was first base, 
but he was not instinctively a ball-player, like 
Ed Ballou, and his errors were disgracefully fre¬ 
quent. Mistakes, however, were not really 
counted, especially on a diamond filled with de¬ 
pressions, where a grounder would invariably 
bound in the direction least expected by the 
fielder. The scores were high in these contests, 
and they frequently broke up in a fight, one side 
or the other claiming a victory because of some 
breach of the rules. 

It was Peter, also, who organized the first reg¬ 
ular football eleven in the Deepwater Grammar 
School and actually had the enterprise to schedule 
a game with the Ludlow Falls Grammar School, 
four miles away. Mr. Harlow, the Principal, had 
tried to teach the boys some of the rudiments of 


THE GREAT RACE 


273 


the game, and they had reached the point where 
they had mastered their signals and considered 
themselves invincible. Some of them had been 
allowed by their parents to order from Sears, Roe¬ 
buck some very gaudy sweaters, with broad al¬ 
ternating stripes of yellow and black; and it must 
be stated that, as they drove off to Ludlow Falls 
packed tightly together in the school motor-bus, 
they looked quite formidable. Even in practice 
they performed creditably before the small crowd 
of spectators. . . . But when the game 
started, their ignorance and incapacity were re¬ 
vealed. Peter, playing left end, was startled after 
the kick-off to see a towering figure descending 
upon him, his nose-guard making him resemble 
some dreadful and brutal savage. Even in that 
agonizing moment, the boy’s courage did not de¬ 
sert him. He made an ambitious but futile dive 
at the legs of his flying opponent, and then sat 
up to see the Ludlow Falls boy,—who later be¬ 
came one of the great college backs of his genera¬ 
tion,—bowling over man after man and finally 
placing the pigskin over the Deepwater line for a 
touchdown. 

It was a disconcerting, ignominious, but illumi¬ 
nating experience for Peter. The Ludlow Falls 


274 PETER HAD COURAGE 

eleven, trained by a coach from Hamilton College, 
knew tricks which the Deepwater boys had never 
seen, and the latter were absolutely helpless. 
When the game was over, with the score 87 to 0 
against Deepwater, Peter was a wise and less 
confident youngster. The journey back home 
was very quiet, and the members of the eleven, 
sore both in body and mind, had little to say. 
But Peter’s eleven played no more games with 
outside teams that autumn. 

It was during the spring following his painful 
love affair that Peter gained enduring fame for 
himself by being mainly responsible for the first 
track meet ever held in Deepwater. During the 
Easter vacation, one of his cousins, a boy who 
had been christened Charles Montague Hazen, but 
who, because of a reputation for garrulity, was 
commonly called “ Windy,” spent a few days at 
Deepwater. He was then a Sophomore at Dart¬ 
mouth and had been trying out for the shot-put 
on the varsity track team. He brought with him 
on his visit a sixteen-pound shot, carried in a 
canvas bag, and spent part of each morning, even 
in the slush and mud, practising in the Wads¬ 
worths’ garden. Peter, you may be sure, gazed 
with the keenest interest at his costume,—the 


THE GREAT RACE 


275 


athletic shirt, the short running-drawers, and the 
spiked shoes,—storing all the information away 
for future use. 

Windy kindly undertook to give Peter some 
lessons in the technique of his event, explaining 
to him first that the globe used by boys of 
“ prep ” school age weighed only twelve pounds. 
Peter, however, was well-enough developed so 
that the heavier shot did not trouble him, and he 
soon, with Windy’s coaching, managed to hurl it 
a creditable distance. Meanwhile from Windy’s 
incessant conversation he picked up a large num¬ 
ber of facts about track sports and the proper 
method of conducting a meet. Peter listened in 
admiration, treasured all Windy’s remarks, and 
pondered on them before going to sleep at night. 
He sent for a catalogue of sporting goods and 
examined the pictures with delight. When 

i 

Windy’s stay was over, Peter was like a man who 
is familiar with a foreign country from the peru¬ 
sal of guide-books, without even having set foot 
upon its soil. 

On the outskirts of Deepwater was a half-mile 
dirt track, the survival of an earlier period of 
grandeur, when the village used to have its three 
days of horse-racing every autumn. In the days 


276 PETER HAD COURAGE 

before Peter was born, moreover, it had been the 
scene of the annual County Fair. During the 
weeks devoted to horse-racing and the fair, 
crowds of sharpers, gamblers, and fakirs congre¬ 
gated in Deepwater, giving the little place a 
cosmopolitan aspect. . . . Now the old days 

were gone. Automobiles had largely replaced 
horses, and racing, except at resorts like Saratoga, 
had been abandoned. The county fair had been 
transferred to a more enterprising center. The 
track itself meanwhile had filled with weeds and 
grass, and the high wooden fence which had once 
surrounded it had fallen in at various points. 
The grandstand, however, was still in good condi¬ 
tion, and the track itself could be restored to use 
by a vigorous employment of the rake and hoe. 
Indeed there had been a time within twenty years 
when bicycle races had been held there, and occa¬ 
sionally there would be a ball game on the grass 
enclosure between a Deepwater team and that of 
some rival town. 

It was while Peter was driving with his father 
past the rather imposing entrance to the fair 
grounds that the big idea entered his mind. 
When school opened for the spring term, he was 
ready with his project. 






THE GREAT RACE 


277 


“ Look here,” he said on the first day to Beady, 
Mucker Wright, and a few others who were sit¬ 
ting idly on the stone steps waiting for the doors 
to open. “ Why don’t we start a regular track 
team and challenge Clayton and Ludlow Falls to 
a triangular meet here in Deepwater? We can 
get permission to use the old race-track, I’ll bet, 
and we can ask the storekeepers to furnish 
prizes.” 

“ Didn’t you get enough of a trimming with 
your famous football team two years ago? ” asked 
Mucker, grinning broadly. 

“ Oh, that’s different,” responded the enthusi¬ 
astic Peter. “ We didn’t really know a thing 
about football. No wonder we were beaten.” 

“ Well, when it comes to that, does any one of 
us know anything about training for track 
work? ” 

“ I’ve been picking up a few ideas from Windy 
Hazen, my cousin; and besides, Len Peck used to 
be on the track team at Yale. He told me so.” 
Len Peck, thus casually referred to, was the 
dignified Assistant Principal in the High School, 
who was fresh from college and who liked to 
mingle with the older boys as one of them. 

“My dad ran the mile when he was at Am- 


278 PETER HAD COURAGE 


herst, I know,” added Peter. “ But I guess he’s 
too old to do it now. Anyhow, he could hand us 
a little advice as to how to get started.” 

“ I don’t see why we couldn’t get together 
enough fellows for a respectable team,” added 
Hal Webster. “ I’m for the plan. I’m going to 
ask Dad to-night whether he won’t let me buy a 
vaulting-pole so that I can go out for the pole 
vault.” The Webster family were well-to-do, and 
the two sons always seemed to have money suffi¬ 
cient to satisfy all their desires. 

“ Why don’t we write Clayton and Ludlow 
Falls right off? ” asked Beady Bennett, whose 
mind had a practical bent. “ If they accept, we 
can go ahead with our plans,” 

“ Let’s call a meeting after school and settle 
everything then,” suggested Leaky Terry, the 
politician of the group. “We can elect a captain 
and a manager and appoint a committee to run 
the meet.” 

It was not difficult, with all this fervor, to 
proceed to business. Len Peck, when consulted, 
proved to be an invaluable mentor, even con¬ 
senting to call the older boys in the grammar 
school together that afternoon and explain what 
had been suggested. When he had outlined the 


279 


THE GREAT RACE 

details of the plan, Peter took charge of the meet¬ 
ing. A series of ballots showed that Peter, who 
was popular, had been elected unanimously as 
captain; while the managership, after a close 
contest between Beady and Leaky, fell to the 
latter. 

Mr. Peck then pointed out that certain ap¬ 
paratus would have to be purchased at once,—a 
twelve-pound hammer, a shot, some vaulting- 
poles, a discus or two, some javelins, and other 
minor pieces of equipment. He advised against 
holding hurdle races, which, he said, were too 
difficult in technique for them to attempt within 
the short time at their disposal. The old aban¬ 
doned track would have to be hired from the 
proper authorities and cleaned up by the boys 
themselves. Each prospective contestant would 
have to purchase a running-shirt and drawers and, 
if possible, special shoes,—though it would be 
quite feasible to wear sneakers. He borrowed 
Peter’s catalogue, with its alluring pictures of 
various articles which were needed, and then 
added that he would be glad to advance the sum 
necessary to secure some of the equipment right 
away,—this money to be repaid later from the 
gate receipts, if there were any. 


280 PETER HAD COURAGE 


Leaky, in his responsible position as manager, 
sent off a carefully concocted letter that evening 
to the two schools in Clayton and Ludlow Falls, 
placing a formal invitation before them, and for 
two or three days the boys were on edge, await¬ 
ing an answer. On Friday there arrived in the 
same mail two replies, couched in formal lan¬ 
guage, but indicating that both schools were 
ready to agree to the proposal. The Clayton 
representative suggested a conference of man¬ 
agers during the following week, and this was 
duly arranged by telephone. Meanwhile Peter, 
with Beady and Hal Webster as his assistants, 
started out to seek prizes. With an audacity 
which amazed his helpers, he decided to begin 
with Colonel Conger. Leaving them on the street, 
he walked right up the front walk, rang the bell, 
asked the butler for Colonel Conger himself, and 
was ushered into the library in which he had 
once spent such an unhappy ten minutes. It was 
not long before the master of the house entered 
and greeted him like a long-lost friend. 

“ Why,” he said, “ here’s the prodigal son at 
last! We certainly ought to kill the fatted calf! 
I thought that you were never coming to see me 
again.” 


281 


THE GREAT RACE 

u It’s a kind of a business visit this time, sir,” 
said Peter, feeling a little embarrassed now that 
he was actually face to face with the Colonel. 

“ Are you in any trouble? ” asked his host, 
smiling genially. “ Have you broken any more 
of my household belongings? ” 

“ Oh, no, sir,” protested Peter. “Not at all! 
But I do want to ask you for something, sir.” 

His speech at last released, Peter then pro¬ 
ceeded to tell the older gentleman something 
about his scheme, dwelling at some length on the 
details. 

“ What event are you going in? ” inquired the 

Colonel, when he had heard all about the 

\ 

plan. 

“ I haven’t exactly settled that yet,” answered 
Peter soberly. “ I’m going to try the shot-put, 
of course, and the hammer-throw and the one- 
hundred-yard dash and perhaps the broad jump 
and possibly the-” 

“Stop, stop!” cried the Colonel, simulating 
bewilderment. “ Aren’t you going to let any of 
the other fellows have a chance? Are you plan¬ 
ning to win the meet all by yourself? ” 

“ Well, you see I don’t really know whether 
I’m worth anything in any of the events,” said 



282 PETER HAD COURAGE 

Peter, who had sense enough to realize when he 
was being “ jollied.^ “ I’m going to take a chance 
with them all, one by one, until I find out which 
one I can do the best in.” 

“ Don’t be too ambitious, my boy,” advised the 
Colonel. “ Select one or two contests and stick 
to them. Trust an old stager,—these miscel¬ 
laneous chaps that spread themselves out over a 
number of races usually do poorly in them all. 
But you didn’t drop in to have me preach a ser¬ 
mon to you, did you? I’ll tell you what I’ll do, 
for the sake of old times. I’ll give you ten dollars 
to buy a prize for any event which you select. 
You can’t offer money prizes, as you know, or 
you’ll all be rated as professionals,—and that 
might be embarrassing later when you’re running 
for Yale! But you buy a baseball glove or a ten¬ 
nis racket or whatever you want,—even a small 
iron dog,—and put it up as the first prize in some 
event in which you’re going to take part. That’s 
my only stipulation,—you must be one of the 
competitors.” 

After making this rather long speech, Colonel 
Conger drew out a fat pocket-book, extracted 
a crisp yellow ten-dollar note, and handed it to 
Peter. 



THE GREAT RACE 


283 


“ But this is altogether too much, sir,” said 
Peter, now covered with confusion. “ One dol¬ 
lar is quite enough.” 

“ You’d better take what’s given you and say 
nothing,” responded the affable Colonel. “ It’s 
your business now to go out and earn the re¬ 
ward.” 

“ Thank you ever so much, sir,” answered 
Peter. “And I’ll say that your prize will be the 
best one offered.” 

“ I suppose you’ve noticed that the dog has 
vanished,” said Colonel Conger, as he stood with 
Peter in the door and pointed towards the lawn. 
Again Peter became very red and could think of 
nothing whatever to say. He was always 
ashamed when he remembered his part in carry¬ 
ing off the tail of the statue. 

Colonel Conger was not desirous of prolonging 
the agony, and hastened to put his strong hand 
on the youngster’s shoulder. “ That’s all right,” 
he said. “ If you display half the strength in the 
shot-put that you employed in breaking off Fido’s 
tail, you’ll get first place for Deepwater.” 

After this auspicious beginning,—with which 
Peter’s coadjutors were duly impressed,—the job 
of collecting prizes seemed easier. Most of the 


284 PETER HAD COURAGE 


merchants, responding to the enthusiasm of the 
solicitors, smiled upon the lads and were willing 
to be on the list of donors,—especially since their 
names were to be printed on the program. Some 
of them, it must be confessed, improved the op¬ 
portunity to rid their shelves of articles which, 
for one reason or another, were no longer saleable. 
But, when the inventory was taken, the commit¬ 
tee had a self-raising umbrella (of red silk), a 
suit-case (made of imitation leather), a tall oil 
lamp and stand (of a fashion in vogue thirty 
years before), several jack-knives, three boxes of 
candy, an air-gun, two neckties, a ticket good for 
ten gallons of gasoline at the local garage, twenty 
pounds of sugar, and even a small radio set (con¬ 
tributed by the local electrician, who was much 
interested in sports),—quite enough to provide 
prizes for first, second, and third places in each 
event. With the ten dollars presented by Colonel 
Conger, Peter, after consultation with the others, 
ordered a tennis racket from Sears, Roebuck, at 
the same time informing the committee of the 
Colonel’s stipulation,—that the tennis racket 
must be offered as first prize in some event in 
which Peter was to be a competitor. 

It now became essential to interview the of- 


285 


THE GREAT RACE 

ficials of the Deepwater Race-track Association, 
who never met except to approve the acts of the 
Treasurer. Dr. Wadsworth was able to help the 
boys by bringing them himself to the house of 
the Treasurer, a well-known village character 
known to everybody, old and young, as “ Charlie ” 
Bacon,—a genial sportsman, who had seen bet¬ 
ter days and who welcomed anything in the way 
of excitement, especially when it involved a race. 
He gladly allowed the boys to use the track with¬ 
out charge and volunteered himself to act as judge 
at the finish,—a position which he had occupied 
hundreds of times in trotting races in years gone 
by. He was a stout man, with shoulders strangely 
humped as the result of disease, but he still kept 
the spirit of his youth, and his weary eyes spar¬ 
kled as he recalled some of the incidents which 
had happened on the old track. When his con¬ 
sent had been secured, the boys, headed by 
Leaky and Peter, brought hoes and rakes to the 
field after school and began the task of removing 
the weeds and grass from the track, displaying 
an energy which would have startled their par¬ 
ents. Leaky, who swept off his front porch 
grudgingly and complained when he was asked to 
bring up wood for the fireplace, proved to be a 


286 PETER HAD COURAGE 

Trojan at weeding the track,—thus justifying his 
selection as manager of the team. 

It was no simple problem for Peter to select 
one or two events as worthy of his ability. Each 
contest had its own peculiar charms, and there 
were rash moments when he felt that he desired 
to enter them all. By a process of elimination, 
however, he was enabled to reach a conclusion. 
He soon discovered that Mucker Wright could 
easily defeat him in the weight events, putting 
the shot, almost without practice, at least three 
feet beyond any mark he had established. Dis¬ 
appointed, he experimented with the jumps and 
the pole vault, only to find that he had formi¬ 
dable rivals, who could beat him without any ap¬ 
parent effort. Beady Bennett, for instance, who 
wore horn spectacles and looked not at all like an 
athlete, proved to have exceptional skill in the 
pole vault, at which event he had practised in his 
back-yard with a bean-pole and the family 
clothes-line. In the sprints, little Jack Goodhue, 
who was four inches shorter, had greater speed 
than Peter, who got started very slowly. Indeed 
it looked for a day or two as if Peter would have 
to content himself with being a spectator at the 
meet which he had planned. 


THE GREAT RACE 


287 


On the next Saturday afternoon Peter, very 
disconsolate, started out with six or seven other 
aspirants to jog around the half-mile track. Most 
of the others were older than he,—big, slow- 
minded boys who had come in to the grammar 
school from farms in the vicinity,—and he ex¬ 
pected to struggle in last,—for the conceit had 
all been taken out of him. When the distance 
had been half covered, Peter was fourth in the 
line and feeling as if he could hardly move more 
than a few yards farther. Then, quite suddenly, 
he could feel his “second wind” coming, as it 
had often come when he had run around the park 
as a very small boy. His strength renewed, he 
was encouraged to try to pass his competitors. 
With an ease which seemed incredible, he ran by 
them one by one, until only Roddy Osborne, a 
tall, long-legged classmate of his, was ahead of 
him. As they rounded the last curve to dash 
down the long home-stretch, over which so many 
horses had trotted furiously in the past, the two 
lads were side by side; but in the last fifty yards, 
Peter’s superior endurance told, and, struggling 
furiously, he drew slowly ahead, finishing at least 
five yards in front, while his rival, exhausted, 
staggered across the line. 


288 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ Gee whiz, Peter! ” he exclaimed, as his breath 
gradually came back. “ I didn’t know you could 
run like that! ” 

Mr. Harlow, who had been watching the finish, 
came up to Peter, who was panting but still 
standing upright, and said, “ Well, young fellow, 

I suspect that we’ve found your event at last. 
That was a mighty fine race you just ran. Have 
you ever tried that distance before? ” 

“ Never around this track, but I’ve run around 
the edge of the park dozens of times. Once I 
did it forty-two times without stopping.” 

“ That must be at least five miles,” said Mr. 
Harlow, making a rapid calculation. “ I shouldn’t 
be surprised if we could make a middle-distance 
runner out of you.” 

“ Well, I’ve tried everything else, sir, and I 
have nothing to lose and everything to gain. I’ll 
put down my name for the quarter and the half, 
if you’ll let me.” 

Thus it was that Peter Wadsworth appeared 
on the official program as an entrant in the mid¬ 
dle distance runs. So, too, the prize for the half- 
mile was published as “ One Tennis Racket, Con¬ 
tributed by Colonel Montague Conger.” 

During the month which intervened before 


289 


THE GREAT RACE 

Memorial Day, when the great meet was to be 
held, Peter devoted himself steadily to training 
under the guidance of Len Peck. First he in¬ 
sisted that his father should examine him to 
make sure that his heart and lungs were in good 
condition. This the physician did most solemnly, 
taking him into his inner office, testing with a 
stethoscope and other instruments, and finally 
pronouncing the candidate sound and healthy. 
Then he asked Mr. Peck to prepare for him a 
schedule involving only a small amount of actual 
running each day, but including practice in start¬ 
ing and sprinting. Once a week, on Saturday 
morning, he ran a full half-mile, and was gratified 
to hear Mr. Peck say that his time was improv¬ 
ing. Mrs. Wadsworth, for her part, was delighted 
to see that her older son declined cake, candy, 
and cookies, and seemed to have an abnormal 
passion for large quantities of beefsteak and eggs. 
Nor was there any difficulty about inducing him 
to go to bed early. Of his own accord he went 
up-stairs each evening on the stroke of nine from 
the bells in the Masonic Temple on the corner, 

■—thus obeying the instructions which he read in 
a book of advice to prospective runners. 

In his proud position as manager of the Deep- 


290 PETER HAD COURAGE 


water team, Leaky had met with representatives 
from Clayton and Ludlow Falls in a conference 
in Principal Harlow’s office, and a system of scor¬ 
ing had been agreed upon, with first place count¬ 
ing five points, second, three points, and third, 
one point. There were to be eleven events: the 
100 yards, the 220 yards, the quarter-mile, the 
half-mile, the broad jump, the high jump, the 
pole vault, the shot-put, the hammer-throw, the 
javelin-throw, and the discus-throw. There were 
thus ninety-nine points in all, and the school 
winning fifty points was certain to win. The of¬ 
ficials were chosen from people located in the 
three different villages, each manager picking sev¬ 
eral. A banner was to be awarded to the victori¬ 
ous school. 

Nothing at last remained but to await the great 
day. On the evening before, Peter could hardly 
sleep, so eager was he to see what kind of weather 
the dawn would bring. He sank into slumber 
over a copy of Longfellow’s Courtship of Miles 
Standish, and, when next he opened his eyes, the 
sun was pouring in at the east window, and, look¬ 
ing out, he could discern no sign of a cloud. It 
was evident that they were to have a glorious 
spring afternoon. 


THE GREAT RACE 


291 


Obedient to orders from Len Peck, Peter 
dressed in a leisurely way and did not hurry over 
his breakfast of cereal and toast. In the morn¬ 
ing, with the other Followers of Deerfoot, he 
watched the parade of the local post of the Amer¬ 
ican Legion on the march to the cemetery to dec¬ 
orate the graves of fallen comrades. The line of 
men in uniform made a profound impression on 
Peter, who had been too young to realize what 
the World War was all about, but who could 
appreciate the significance of the flags and the 
four or five ex-service men who wore wound 
stripes. When the procession had passed, he went 
back to the house and read the latest copy of 
Popular Mechanics for the remainder of the 
morning. Lunch, at his special request, was held 
at twelve o’clock, and by one he was at the track, 
where he found Leaky and his assistants selling 
tickets and seating the crowd. . . . Peter 

had wondered whether anybody would come to 
the meet. Now he was elated to find all Deep¬ 
water lining up at the ticket booth, including 
even Colonel Conger, who looked very impressive 
with a carnation in his lapel and a gold-headed 
cane in his hand. 

It was not long before the teams from the two 


292 PETER HAD COURAGE 

rival schools made their appearance, accompanied 
by many “ rooters ” from Clayton and Ludlow 
Falls. Clayton was ten miles to the north, on the 
main highway to Schuyler; Ludlow Falls was 
barely four miles away to the west, over a range 
of low hills. The two towns had apparently re¬ 
solved to support their respective teams, and were 
doing it noisily, judging by the cheering which 
Peter could hear. 

Down in the dressing-rooms under the grand¬ 
stand, where once jockeys had congregated, Peter 
discovered the Clayton and Ludlow Falls athletes 
and gazed at them a little curiously as he passed 
on to the rooms assigned to himself and his team¬ 
mates. Here he met Mucker Wright, Beady 
Bennett, Roddy Osborne, and the other star per¬ 
formers from Deepwater; and, while they were 
changing into their running costume, Len Peck 
appeared to bestow a final sentence or two of 
counsel. Meanwhile the usual eleventh-hour gos¬ 
sip was going on. 

“ Have you seen that big guy from Clayton? ” 
asked Beady. “ His name is Newton, and he’s 
got an arm like the hind leg of a bull! He must 
be a wonder in the shot-put! Mucker won’t have 
a chance against a giant like that! ” 


THE GREAT RACE 


298 


“ Don’t you believe it,” said the sturdy Mucker, 
bending his arm to disclose his mighty biceps. 
“ But I am worried about the pole vault. A fel¬ 
low from Ludlow Falls told me that their man, 
Gordon, can go nine feet, six, in the pole vault. 
That’s better than you can do, Beady, even if 
you have luck with you! ” 

“ Oh, cut it out, will you? ” growled Peter, pre¬ 
pared to be a real captain and encourage his men. 
“ I’ll bet they’re talking the same way about us! 
Don’t let’s be afraid of them! They’re not a 
bit better than we are,—not a bit! That guy 
Lester Newton isn’t an ounce heavier than 
Mucker,—I saw him myself back there in the 
corridor.” 

“Anyhow, Len Peck has it all figured out that 
we can win if each one of us does as well as he 
has done,” put in Jack Goodhue, who had won 
the respect of the others ever since his sprinting 
powers had been revealed. “And he’s got some 
inside dope on what their men have done as com¬ 
pared with us.” 

In a minute or two the call for the one-hun- 
dred-yard dash was sounded, and the team ran 
out, most of them in blue running-shirts and 
white trunks, and a few with blue sweaters on 


294 PETER HAD COURAGE 

which had been sewed a large white “ D.” When 
Dr. Wadsworth learned of Peter’s interest in run¬ 
ning, he bought for him a fine pair of spiked ath¬ 
letic shoes; the majority of the team, however, 
had only canvas sneakers with rubber soles. In 
his running costume, Peter looked a little thin, 
but his body was hard and muscular. He was in 
what is usually described in sporting stories as 
“ the pink of condition.” 

As he stepped outside into the sunlight, blink¬ 
ing his eyes after having been in the semi-dark¬ 
ness, he gazed towards the grandstand, which 
seemed to be packed with gaily-dressed people. 
In the front row, directly across from the finish 
line, he could see his mother and father, who were 
waving their hands at him. “ We’re going to 
make some money, anyhow,” he thought, as his 
eye passed from one crowded bench to another. 
Then he turned to the field itself. There was 
almost no wind blowing, and, as he stepped on 
the dirt track, he could feel it grate beneath his 
feet. A college runner, accustomed to a cinder 
path, would have scorned this hard-baked sur¬ 
face, but to Peter the footing seemed perfect. 
His heart swelled with pride as he glanced around 
him, like a Spartan athlete in a Greek stadium, 


THE GREAT RACE 295 

and reflected that these spectators had come to 
see him run. 

It would be inaccurate to state that the pro¬ 
gram of events was carried out without diffi¬ 
culties. Possibly critics familiar with intercol¬ 
legiate games might have laughed at some of the 
unorthodox proceedings which took place during 
the afternoon. The Clerk of the Course, however, 
a young Hamilton College graduate, and Mr. 
Peck between them managed to keep things 
moving. Somehow the runners did get off from 
the mark, the throws of the weight men were 
measured, and everybody had a good time in 
the sun. 

Peter, his mind intent on his own part in the 
schedule, had little opportunity of watching what 
was happening. He did hear that Lester 
Newton, from Clayton, although clothed in long 
trousers, had completely outclassed Mucker 
Wright in the hammer-throw; and he was near 
the finish when little Jack Goodhue, a ferocious 
expression on his usually bland countenance, had 
to take second place in the one-hundred-yard 
dash to Rogers, of Ludlow Falls. Other Deep¬ 
water men, however, were doing unexpectedly 
well, including Hal Webster, who, in spite of his 


296 PETER HAD COURAGE 

long legs,—or perhaps because of them,—had cap¬ 
tured first place in the broad jump. 

When the quarter-mile was called, Peter 
strolled slowly with the other runners to the start¬ 
ing point at the back stretch of the track, chat¬ 
ting on the way with “ Nig ” Bristol, a boy from 
Clayton whom he had met at parties in Deep¬ 
water and who had been at one time particularly 
interested in Kitty Adams. It would be inade¬ 
quate to say that Peter was terrified. Actually, 
he was frightened as he had never been before. 
He kept saying to himself, “ Brace up, you fool! ” 
but he could not quiet the rapid pulsating of his 
heart. As he stole furtive glances at his compet¬ 
itors, they looked far stronger than he, and he 
contemplated sadly the prospect of coming in 
last. . . . And then he remembered what Len 
Peck had told him and said, “ Why, they’re just 
as scared of me as I am of them! I can beat 
Roddy Osborne, anyway! I won’t be the last 
man in! ” So comforting was this thought that 
he took courage; and later, as he dug a hole for 
his toe in the track, he could see that Nig Bris¬ 
tol’s knees were shaking and that he was quite 
pale. 

“ Get on your marks! ” 


297 


THE GREAT RACE 

“ Get set! ” 

The interval between these stern injunctions 
seemed interminable. Why wouldn’t the pistol 
sound? 

“ Crack! ” The noise of the pistol was author¬ 
itative and roused Peter to immediate action. As 
if he had been some automatic machine, his legs, 
almost without his volition, began carrying him 
along with the others down the course. Strangely 
enough, as soon as he was in motion, all his 
timidity vanished! His coolness returned! His 
brain operating with perfect clearness, he moved 
on steadily with even stride, keeping pace with 
the three who were ahead of him,—Nig Bristol, 
Roddy Osborne, and an Unknown, wearing the 
insignia of Ludlow Falls. 

As they rounded the broad curve at the west¬ 
ern end of the track, Peter drew up with the 
leaders, and the four sprinted on almost abreast, 
the others being left more and more in the rear. 
Peter passed Roddy without much difficulty, and 
then moved foot by foot by the Unknown. He 
and Nig were now battling it out side by side. 
Twenty yards from the tape, Peter forged ahead 
by a few inches, but he could not resist the temp¬ 
tation to turn his head to see where his opponent 


298 PETER HAD COURAGE 

was, and, in that instant, Nig threw himself for¬ 
ward with a convulsive lunge which gave him the 
victory by half a foot. It had been a splendid 
race, and Peter, as he stopped and endeavored to 
regain his wind, could hear the crowd in the stand 
still cheering. 

Leaky and Charlie Webster, who were not par¬ 
ticipants, held him up, and Gige threw a blanket 
around his shoulders. Dozens of friends appeared 
at once, all eager to congratulate him, but the 
boy shook them off. His father then came along 
and gripped his hand, saying, “ Good work, Peter, 
you gave that fellow a run for his first place! ” 

“ I was terrible, Dad,” replied Peter. “ I’m 
ashamed of myself. If I hadn’t looked around, 
I’d have beaten him. I did the very thing that 
Len Peck warned me never to do,—and it cost 
Deepwater the race! ” 

“ Cheer up, my son. You ran a bully quarter. 
There’s no disgrace in that, and you added three 
points to the Deepwater total.” 

When Peter reached the dressing-room, he ig¬ 
nored everybody but “ Mose ” Jackson, the negro 
man-of-all-work whom Len Peck had engaged to 
rub down the Deepwater team. 

“ Mose,” he said in a dolorous voice, “ I’m no 


THE GREAT RACE 


299 


good,—but somehow I've just got to win that 
half-mile. Can't you massage those leg muscles 
of mine so that I'll just fly around the track? ” 

“ Yes, suh, I'll jest do that thing/' said Mose, 
as Peter lay down on the big table. Then Mose 
poured out some witch-hazel and a peculiarly 
odorous brand of liniment and proceeded to knead 
the taut muscles of Peter's calf and thighs. Un¬ 
der this treatment the boy felt better at once. 
As he lay there, people were rushing back and 
forth to bring the news. “Clayton is ahead! " 
“ Beady Bennett has a cinch in the pole vault,— 
he's just gone nine feet, six! " “ Ludlow Falls has 
taken all three places in the high jump! " “ Hoo¬ 
ray, we've got first in the javelin! " 

When his tense muscles had somewhat relaxed 
and Peter lay back to rest, he saw Mr. Peck ap¬ 
proaching. Looking at him sharply as if to see 
what condition he was in, Len said, “ Well, Peter, 
it seems to be up to you! As nearly as I can fig¬ 
ure it out, Clayton and Deepwater are tied with 
31 points apiece, and Ludlow Falls has 30. Every¬ 
thing depends on this half-mile. If you can get 
first, we win hands down. If Nig Bristol beats 
you, Clayton takes the banner. If some Ludlow 
man comes in ahead of both of you, the meet may 


300 PETER HAD COURAGE 


be a tie. That’s exciting enough, isn’t it? It 
sounds like some melodramatic school story,— 
but it’s the truth! ” 

Peter wasted none of his strength in talking, 
but he heard every word that was said. Bristol 
would be his chief rival,—he was sure of that. 
There was no Ludlow Falls man who could equal 
either Bristol or himself. Peter also was confi¬ 
dent that the half-mile was his best distance, but 
he could not be sure how tired he was going to 
feel when he began to move around again. 
Which boy would be the more exhausted after 
that hard quarter? Nig was older than he and 
taller, but somehow Peter felt that his rival had 
less endurance. 

“ First call for the half-mile run!” Mose 
stopped his rubbing, and Peter stood up, stretch¬ 
ing his legs carefully, glad to notice that the 
muscles did not feel weary. As he walked out, 
wrapped in a blanket, to the starting-line just 
in front of the grandstand, he could hear the 
plaintive appeals of his supporters, “ Oh, you 
Westcott! ”, “ Go it, Peter!”, and “ Beat him, 
kiddo! ” He saw Nig Bristol approaching and 
heard him say in a low tone, “ Guess I’ll have to 
trim you again, Peter! ” Peter made no reply, 


301 


THE GREAT RACE 

but grinned at him solemnly and winked his right 
eye, much to Nig’s amazement. Then he set his 
heavy jaw in a determined way. 

There were nine entries in the race, only two 
of which were from Deepwater,—Peter and 
Roddy Osborne. Realizing that Roddy could not 
possibly win, Mr. Peck had instructed him to set 
a sharp pace from the start, in the hope of killing 
off some of the other contestants during the first 
quarter. As soon as the pistol cracked, then, 
Roddy, who was next to the pole, was off at a 
fast speed, as if he hoped to run his competitors 
off their feet. Three of the others followed him, 
but Nig and Peter stayed behind, content to let 
their rivals do the fighting for the first five hun¬ 
dred yards. Peter saw that Nig had been care¬ 
fully coached by an expert who knew racing 
technique. 

As they dashed up the back stretch, with half 
of the race over, Roddy was plainly weakening 
and running with heavier strides. On the upper 
curve, Peter and Nig, who had been going along 
easily about five yards in the rear, gradually 
diminished the distance between them and the 
leaders, so that, when they entered the long 
straightaway, they were well in the lead. The 


302 PETER HAD COURAGE 

spectators, although Peter did not know it, were 
almost mad with excitement, waving hats and 
handkerchiefs, climbing up on the seats, and 
shouting at the top of their voices. But this 
time Peter was oblivious to everything except the 
fact that Nig was running neck and neck with 
him. Then, inch by inch, he could see himself 
forging ahead! Nearer and nearer came the tape 
at the judges’ stand! Peter’s head felt as if it 
would burst and his legs were like clogs! Like 
an inspiration came the resolve, “ I must win! ” 
He could almost see Nig’s head at his shoulder, 
but he did not look around as he had done in the 
quarter-mile; instead he made one tremendous 
effort of will and legs and lungs! It was enough! 
He almost dived over the line, a winner by two 
yards! 

Peter had tasted the fruits of success before, 
but never to this degree. A group of his friends 
lifted him to their shoulders and carried him,— 
too breathless to resist,—over to a point in front 
of the grandstand, where the Deepwater sup¬ 
porters gave a resounding cheer. When he suc¬ 
ceeded in reaching the dressing-room, he was fol¬ 
lowed by a crowd who would have gone inside 
and watched him put on his clothes if Mose Jack- 



THE GREAT RACE 303 

son had not seized a broom and ordered them 
away. 

“ Leave the kid alone! ” he cried, waving his 
weapon menacingly. “ Can't you let him have 
no privacy? " 

Inside, however, his teammates were gathered, 
and they all came up to shake his hand. 

“ That was a splendid finish, Peter," said Len 
Peck. “And your time was exactly 2.31,—a fine 
record for a lad of your age! In four years you 
ought to be doing it in close to two minutes. 
And it's mighty appropriate that the captain 
should win his own meet! " 

Peter dressed and showed himself outside in 
the sunlight just in time to receive the banner 
which was awarded to the victorious school. Prin¬ 
cipal Harlow made a short speech, commending 
all the participants, but adding that the highest 
praise should go to “ the little fourteen-year-old 
distance runner, Peter Wadsworth." Then there 
were more cheers, and Peter came modestly for¬ 
ward to accept the prize. There were shouts of 
“ Speech! Speech! " but Peter was absolutely 
tongue-tied,—a new sensation for him. He finally 
walked off, by Dr. Wadsworth's side, the big ban¬ 
ner tucked away under his arm. 


304 PETER HAD COURAGE 

While the two were walking down Sanger Street 
on their way home,—Mrs. Wadsworth having 
gone with some friends in a car,—a big Cadillac 
automobile stopped by the side of the road, and 
Colonel Conger, leaning out, called to him. 

“ Young man,” said the Colonel, “ did you win 
that prize I gave? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Peter, who was rather shy 
in front of his father. “ I guess I did. We 
bought a tennis racket with the money and put 
it up as the prize in the half-mile. It must be 
mine now.” 

“ Good,—that’s what I’d hoped! But I don’t 
want to delay you and your father. All I wanted 
to say is that I’m still glad that my iron dog had 
to go! If it hadn’t disappeared, Deepwater 
might not have won! But I almost forgot that 
we have some secrets from your father. By the 
way, Doc, you’ve got a fairly decent son.” 

“ So they all tell me,” replied Dr. Wadsworth 
smiling. “ He must inherit his good qualities 
from his mother! ” 

“ Look here, Peter,” concluded the Colonel, 
“ you just come around soon and tell me how you 
felt. Will you?” 

“ I sure will,” said Peter. And he did. 


CHAPTER XIII 


AN EXPERIMENT IN CHEMISTRY 

During the spring while Peter was in training 
for the track meet he seemed to grow like a 
mushroom. He did not put on weight, but it 
looked to his watchful mother as if he were taller 
each morning than he had been on the evening 
before. His light grey suit, which had fitted him 
so perfectly just a year ago, now made him re¬ 
semble the famous Ichabod Crane, whose arms 
“ dangled a mile out of his coat-sleeves.” It was 
all very annoying to Peter, especially when his 
spinster aunt Mabel, motoring out from the city 
of Schuyler, would kiss him and say, “ Why, dar¬ 
ling, how you have grown! You’re getting to be 
a big boy now! ” Ceremonies of this sort aroused 
in Peter a mad desire to rush out away from the 
house and beat his head against a stone wall. 
He hated to be kissed! He hated to have atten¬ 
tion drawn to his height! He hated publicity! 

Everybody who has ever been a boy will under- 

305 


306 PETER HAD COURAGE 


stand his emotions perfectly and sympathize with 
them. 

When it became obvious that Peter would have 
to have some additions to his wardrobe, there was 
a prolonged and heated discussion in the Wads¬ 
worth household. Peter insisted that he must 
have a suit with long trousers. 

“ Why, Moms, I’m over five feet, six inches 
tall, and every other fellow of my age has been 
wearing long pants for a year. Besides, if I’m go¬ 
ing to Andover next fall, I’ll look foolish appear¬ 
ing there in a pair of knickerbockers. The fel¬ 
lows will make a monkey out of me! ” 

“ But, Peter, I hate to have you begin to be 
grown up! ” It was the despairing cry of the 
mother who is beginning to realize that the time 
has arrived when the fledgeling must fly from the 
nest. 

“ Oh, Moms, you’ll still have Gige and Vera. 
Besides, I can’t stay a baby forever, can I? ” 

“ What do you think, dear? ” Mrs. Wadsworth 
asked her husband. 

“ You’d better let the boy have his way, Irene. 
He’s old enough now to judge for himself what’s 
best. I’ll motor him to Schuyler to-morrow and 
fit him out.” 


AN EXPERIMENT 


307 


’* Not without me,” replied Mrs. Wadsworth, 
in a positive tone which her husband had learned 
to respect. 

Thus it was that, on the following Sunday, 
Peter marched to church clad in his first pair of 
long trousers and feeling most self-conscious. As 
he met a friend or two, he was like a pugnacious 
bulldog, always ready for a fight. His whole at¬ 
titude seemed to say, “ If you speak, I’ll knock 
your head off when I get you alone with my old 
clothes on.” On the way he saw Colonel Conger, 
dressed immaculately in a cutaway coat and car¬ 
rying his customary gold-headed cane. 

“ Good-morning, Peter,” he said ceremoniously, 
taking off his hat to Mrs. Wadsworth. “ You’re 
adorned with unusual elegance on this fine June 
morning, aren’t you? Don’t I detect an addition 
to your wardrobe? You look like a Beau Brum- 
mel! ” 

Peter became flustered, as indeed he always 
seemed to do in Colonel Conger’s presence. The 
Colonel, on his part, realized at once that he had 
made a mistake in calling attention to Peter’s 
clothes. “ Pardon me! I didn’t mean to com¬ 
ment on your attire. But you do look fine. Who 
would ever imagine, from looking at you to-day, 


308 PETER HAD COURAGE 

that you ran a half-mile in 2.31 two weeks 
ago? ” 

“ That’s all right, sir,” responded Peter. “ I 
don’t mind a bit having you laugh about my long 
trousers. But I’ll beat up any fellow that tries 
it.” 

“You mustn’t be so sensitive, my boy,” said 
the Colonel. “ If you start trying to lick every¬ 
body who laughs at you, you’ll be fighting most 
of your life. The best way’s to pay no attention 
to critics. A man can waste a lot of time in use¬ 
less controversy.” 

“ You’re right, of course, sir,—only it’s hard for 
me to keep my temper sometimes.” 

“ That’s something you’ll have to learn, Peter, 
if you expect to get along with others. There’s 
some good advice,—better than you’ll hear in 
church from Parson Adams,—and I won’t take up 
any collection either.” 

Peter chuckled. “ I’ll try to practise it, sir. 
But I won’t absolutely promise not to lick Frank 
Green to-morrow if he dares to laugh when I go 
by his fruit-stand.” 

Through this ordeal, like so many others, Peter 
passed safely, with nothing more irritating than 
a few remarks by older people he met, “ Why, 


AN EXPERIMENT 309 

if this isn’t Dr. Wadsworth’s boy in long pants! 
It seems only yesterday that your mother wheeled 
you by here in a baby-carriage! ” Even these 
observations stopped in a week or two, after some 
new sensation had appeared. When he wore the 
suit on the stage at Commencement, in the gram¬ 
mar school, it aroused no excitement whatever. 
In some respects Peter was distinctly disap¬ 
pointed, especially when none of the girls made 
a comment. His mood was jumbled,—he didn’t 
want to be noticed, and yet he did,—and nothing 
would satisfy him. 

When the hurry of Commencement was over, 
Peter and his friends behaved like young colts 
let loose in a pasture. Like most average boys, 
Peter was keenly interested in everything me¬ 
chanical. He knew all the parts of the family 
Dodge much better than Dr. Wadsworth did, and 
once, when the car stopped on the road and re¬ 
fused to budge, Peter had discovered the trouble, 
and, after screwing and unscrewing some sections 
of the carburetor, had persuaded the machine to 
start. Mrs. Wadsworth, like every mother, saw 
positive indications of genius in these perfectly 
normal manifestations of youth and confidently 
predicted that Peter would be the legitimate sue- 


310 PETER HAD COURAGE 

cessor to Marconi and Edison; but his father 
dampened her ardor by pointing out that every 
young male is at certain periods absorbed in the 
miracles of science. At Peter’s request, however, 
Dr. Wadsworth allowed him to use a room on the 
second floor of the garage as a work-shop,—or 
what Peter liked to call his “ laboratory.” 

In this lair, Peter brought together an extra¬ 
ordinary collection of miscellaneous articles,— 
worn-out sections of automobiles, batteries of all 
kinds, old iron carried home from junk heaps, 
radio parts, chemicals of different sorts procured 
from the school laboratory, tools which had been 
picked up here and there, all mixed in together, 
without any order or system. By tacit agree¬ 
ment, Dr. Wadsworth kept away from this trea¬ 
sure-house, but once, when he had been obliged to 
go up-stairs in search of an oil-can which Peter 
had abstracted from the car, he had been over¬ 
whelmed by the amount of material which the 
boys had accumulated. Peter and Gige had ac¬ 
tually built a radio receiving set of their own on 
a model which they had found in Popular Me¬ 
chanics; and their latest achievement had been to 
purchase a rusty old Ford motor for four dollars 
from the local garage man and set it going. 


AN EXPERIMENT 311 

^Whenever electric light wires went wrong or fuses 
blew out in the Wadsworth house, Mrs. Wads¬ 
worth had learned first to apply to Peter, who was 
ordinarily able to diagnose the difficulty and re¬ 
pair the damage. 

Among the boys who were especially interested 
in Peter’s laboratory was Ikey Warren. He wore 
trousers which had been patched, shirts which 
were frayed at the collar, and shoes which were 
often in need of repair; but everybody excused 
his garb, knowing that his father earned very 
little as janitor of the town hall and had trouble 
in providing for his family of a wife and nine 
children. Ikey, as we have seen, had begun by 
being a bully, fond of plaguing younger and 
smaller boys. But his experience with Peter at 
the time of the alarm-clock episode had changed 
his point of view; and, after Peter had practically 
saved his life at Lake Woodhull, Ikey had aban¬ 
doned his old practices. He and Peter, having 
discovered a kindred interest in machinery and 
chemistry, had become close friends. They used 
to work together, whenever Ikey had any lei¬ 
sure from his multitudinous home chores, on some 
problem of construction or investigation, and 
their families would have been horrified at some 


312 PETER HAD COURAGE 

of their experiments. Although Ikey looked 
rather disreputable and ignored the conventional 
laws of grammar, he had an unmistakable gift 
for handling tools and he succeeded sometimes 
when Peter had failed completely. 

On one rainy afternoon shortly after school had 
closed Peter and Ikey were busy in the labora¬ 
tory together. Peter had been awarded at Com¬ 
mencement a prize of five dollars for the best es¬ 
say on the habits of the bluebird,—a subject 
which he had studied with much care during the 
early spring,—and Dr. Wadsworth had decreed 
that the boy could spend the money just as he 
pleased, without consulting his parents. Noth¬ 
ing could have delighted Peter more! He had 
promptly visited the local drug store, where he 
invested in a considerable supply of chemicals, 
proposing to conduct some original experiments. 
Later he had confided his ambitions to Ikey, and 
the boys were now engrossed in the pursuit of 
knowledge. 

For a while they were contented with reactions 
about which they knew something, such as mak¬ 
ing tests with litmus paper for acids and alkalis. 
A small toy chemical set amused them for a few 
minutes, but proved to be too simple. 


AN EXPERIMENT 313 

“ Let’s be real investigators/’ Peter now sug¬ 
gested to Ikey. “ I’m tired of this amateur stuff! 
Let’s try mixing together all sorts of liquids to 
see what will happen. Maybe we can find a 
brand-new compound and make our fortunes! ” 

Their first experiments proved to be harmless 
enough, although they did succeed in producing a 
small quantity of chlorine gas which sent them 
coughing to the windows for a breath of fresh 
air. For half an hour they kept on, pouring one 
smelly mixture into another and observing the 
strange results,—the white precipitate in the bot¬ 
tom of the glass, or the heavy black vapor, or the 
picturesque bubbling inside the test-tube. There 
was a pail of gasoline on a bench which they had 
been using for cleansing purposes and had forgot¬ 
ten. Peter, at one stage of the proceedings, 
lighted a match to test a yellow gas which was 
pouring from the neck of a retort. As he brought 
it near the vapor, there was a terrific explosion, 
and a second later the gasoline, ignited probably 
by some spark, burst into flames. Peter, stunned 
by the sudden shock, fell to the floor unconscious. 
. . . Ikey had been busy at the other end of 

the room, which was perhaps ten feet by twelve 
in size. Hearing the tremendous noise, he turned 


314 PETER HAD COURAGE 

just as Peter dropped and the gasoline flared up. 
His first instinct was to seek a place of safety, 
and he took a step towards the door leading to 
the staircase. But a stronger impulse checked 
him and led him to rush to Peter’s side. 

“ Peter! Peter, old man! ” he cried, shaking 
him vigorously. But his friend made no response. 
Looking around him, Ikey could see that the 
flames from the gasoline were spreading rapidly, 
and the dense fumes were making it hard for 
him to breathe. In half a minute it might be 
difficult, if not impossible, for him to escape. 
Seizing Peter under the arms, he dragged him 
along the floor to the stairway and then down 
the steps. At the foot there was one ghastly sec¬ 
ond when it seemed as if the door had locked it¬ 
self by a spring; but it proved to be only a tight 
latch, which yielded to Ikey’s vigorous pressure, 
and he and his burden almost fell onto the con¬ 
crete floor of the garage. Ikey, however, did not 
stop there. Pulling the prostrate Peter along 
out into the drizzling rain, he opened the kitchen 
door and shouted to Mrs. Wadsworth, “Help! 
Help! Come quick! Peter’s hurt and the garage 
is on fire! Come quick! ” 

It seemed hours before Mrs. Wadsworth, who 


AN EXPERIMENT 


815 


had been sewing in her room up-stairs, came 
rushing down in response to his cries. Mean¬ 
while Ikey had recovered his presence of mind 
sufficiently to fill a bucket of water and pour the 
contents over Peter’s head,—an act which he was 
performing just as Mrs. Wadsworth entered the 
kitchen. Reviving under this deluge, Peter 
opened his eyes and lifted his hand to protest. 

“ What are you doing to me, anyhow? ” he 
asked feebly, not quite sure where he was. Then 
it all came back to him. “ Something exploded, 
didn’t it? ” he inquired, as his mother came 
nearer. Then he sat up, facing the doorway, 
which was open towards the garage. “ Why, the 
whole garage is on fire! ” 

“Are you all right, Peter? ” demanded Mrs. 
Wadsworth, who was much more concerned about 
her son than about any mere building. 

“Sure I am! Just a little bit damp, that’s 
all! ” returned the boy, who was now sitting up, 
feeling ruefully of his wet hair and shirt. “ Is the 
fire department coming? ” 

Ikey, relieved to see his friend returning to life, 
now leaped to the telephone and almost bellowed 
to the operator, “ Fire at Dr. Wadsworth’s! Turn 
in the alarm quick! Hurry! ” Then he rushed 


316 PETER HAD COURAGE 

out to the street to call for help. As he ran along 
in the rain, he could hear the shrill calliope whis¬ 
tle and the bell of the fire alarm begin to sound. 
Indeed he had hardly reached the next corner 
and stopped two Deepwater citizens to notify 
them of the accident and ask their assistance 
before the automobile fire-engine of which the 
village was so proud had come flying up the street 
and driven into the Wadsworth yard. Men, 
women, and children, appearing from all points 
of the compass, followed running in its train. 
There is nothing quite like a good fire to draw a 
crowd in a small village. 

Now that aid had arrived, Ikey dashed back 
as fast as his legs could carry him, returning in 
time to see the streams of water from the hose 
playing on the flames and to explain in a broken 
way to Dr. Wadsworth just what occurred. It 
was not long before the combination of rain and 
the fire department had extinguished the blaze, 
leaving only the shattered panes of glass and some 
charred wood inside as evidence of the disaster. 

Ikey, who was now a bit disturbed regarding 
his part in the affair, was turning to walk away 
when he heard Dr. Wadsworth calling to him 
from the porch. 


AN EXPERIMENT 317 

“ Come in, won’t you, Isaac? ” he asked, as the 
boy approached. “ I want to talk to you a min¬ 
ute.” 

Even more disreputable in appearance than 
usual, Ikey went back reluctantly and was ush¬ 
ered by Dr. Wadsworth into the living-room, 
where he saw Peter lying on a sofa, apparently 
uninjured but still a little weak from the effects 
of the poisonous gases and the explosion. 

“ So far as I can ascertain,” said Dr. Wads¬ 
worth, motioning Ikey to take a seat, “ you must 
have saved Peter’s life. He was completely un¬ 
conscious there, and, if you hadn’t hauled him 
out of the garage, he would have been suffocated 
and ultimately burned to death.” 

“ Sure I would! ” cried Peter, sitting up in his 
excitement. “ Why, Ikey is a regular Carnegie 
medal hero, like the fellow that saved three chil¬ 
dren in the big fire in Schuyler last year! All I 
remember is that I was pouring some stuff from 
one bottle to another and lighted a match to see 
what would happen! Then there was a booming 
crash, and the next thing I knew, I was in the 
kitchen, with a whole flood of water almost 
drowning me! ” 

“ That’s nothin’!” said Ikey bashfully. 


318 PETER HAD COURAGE 

“ Didn’t you haul me out of Lake Woodhull last 
summer when I was sinkin’ to the bottom? 
That’s what I call heroism! It was easy enough 
draggin’ you down-stairs! I don’t want no medal 
for that! ” 

“ Well, you will let me thank you, won’t you, 
for helping Peter and for turning in the alarm 
and saving my garage from going up in smoke? ” 

“ Sure, if you want to,—only I ought not to get 
credit for more than I did do.” 

“All right, Isaac, I’ll try not to worry you with 
thanks. And now why don’t you go home at 
once and change your clothes? You’re all wet! 
How stupid of me to have kept you here! Take 
this umbrella.” 

He thrust the family silk umbrella on the 
shabby, uncomfortable lad, who felt very ill at 
ease as he left the Wadsworth house and walked 
down the street, holding the unaccustomed pro¬ 
tection over his head. He should have been 
proud of his achievement; instead he was just a 
little ashamed of his shyness, his stammering, and 
his poor clothes. He certainly did not picture 
himself as an heroic personage 

But there were people who recognized what he 
was. Dr. Wadsworth saw to it that the Deep - 


AN EXPERIMENT 319 

water Gazette, in its issue for the following Fri¬ 
day, had a full story of the affair and the part 
taken in it by Ikey Warren, under a big double¬ 
column heading “ DEEPWATER BOY PER¬ 
FORMS ACT OF HEROISM.” Meanwhile Dr. 
and Mrs. Wadsworth had called on the Warren 
family and had delighted Mrs. Warren with then- 
praise of her son. Ikey found himself all at once 
a famous character. Men and women whom he 
had never seen stopped him on the street and 
shook his hand, until he was almost weary of be¬ 
ing reminded of his fine deed. The Schuyler 
Observer, commenting editorially on Ikey’s pres¬ 
ence of mind, started a movement to have him 
awarded a medal for courage. Indeed Mrs. War¬ 
ren, for perhaps the first time in all her fifty 
years, had something to be proud of. 

On the following evening, while the members 
of the Wadsworth clan were sitting comfortably 
in rocking-chairs on their broad veranda, as was 
the universal Deepwater custom in the summer 
months, Dr. Wadsworth began asking some ques¬ 
tions. 

“ Is Ikey Warren going on to the high school 
next fall? ” he inquired. 

“ No, I don't think so,” said Peter. “ His 


320 PETER HAD COURAGE 

father says that he must go to work. He has a 
job in Lawrence’s drug store, commencing Sep¬ 
tember first.” 

“ Has he done pretty well in his studies in 
grammar school? ” 

“ Sure, he’s been a good student. Sometimes 
he uses poor grammar when he’s talking with the 
fellows, but his record in his classes is fine. I 
think he stands higher than I do.” 

“ Well, son, I’ve been talking with Colonel 
Conger this afternoon. He hasn’t any children, 
as you know, and he is always looking for some 
bright boy to help. Now it seems to me that it’s 
a shame for a clever youngster like that not to 
have an opportunity for an education. Colonel 
Conger is ready to put up a considerable sum of 
money,—and I can add something to it,—to help 
him get started in Andover with you when you 
go; then, if he makes good, he can do a little to 
work his way through 4 prep ’ school and college. 
What do you think of that? ” 

“ That would be marvelous! It would be great 
to have Ikey enter Andover with me. Couldn’t 
I turn over my share of the Stamp Fund to 
him?” 

“ That won’t be necessary, I think, my son,— 


AN EXPERIMENT 


321 


but it’s generous of you to propose it. The only 
problem now is to get him into Andover. I’m 
going to write to the Head to-morrow,—he used 
to be in college with me, you know. Perhaps, if 
he learns the full story about Ikey, he may be 
inclined to stretch the entrance rules a little.” 

Dr. Wadsworth paused in the midst of his calls 
the next day to stop for a few minutes at the War¬ 
ren house for a confidential chat with Ikey’s 
mother,—a thin, worn-looking woman, who 
looked as if life had proved a heavy burden to 
her. At the physician’s proposal, she appeared 
incredulous, but, when she comprehended what 
the plan involved, her face was wreathed in 
smiles. It did not take long to win her approval, 
for Ikey had been the best-beloved of her chil¬ 
dren. Her approval secured, Dr. Wadsworth was 
fortified for his interview with Mr. Warren, 
whom he found running a vacuum-cleaner up 
and down the aisles of the town hall. After ex¬ 
plaining the broad features of the scheme, he 
went on, “ And now I propose, with your con¬ 
sent, to have a tutor with my family at Lake 
Woodhull this summer and to invite Ikey to come 
along and study with Peter for a month, brushing 
up on his mathematics. Then they’ll both be 


822 PETER HAD COURAGE 


better fitted to enter Andover, which isn’t an easy 
school to get into or stay in. Colonel Conger and 
I will see that Ikey has all the money that he re¬ 
quires for the first year. By that time he will 
be settled, I am sure, and will find some work 
which will help him to earn his way. At any 
rate, we’re prepared to back him just as long as 
he keeps up with his class. I have the utmost 
confidence in your son, Mr. Warren, and I believe 
that he needs only a push to set him going on a 
creditable career.” 

“ You’re so kind that I hardly know what to 
say,” replied Mr. Warren, his eyes suffused with 
tears. “ I can never pay you, of course,—some¬ 
how I’ve been a failure,—but, if you think that 
the lad deserves it, I’m ready to let him go.” 

“ He has saved the life of my oldest son, Mr. 
Warren,” said Dr. Wadsworth, with equal emo¬ 
tion. “ For that I owe him and you more than 
I can ever give in return.” 

So it was that the matter was definitely settled. 
Andover’s Head sent back a most encouraging 
letter, in which he agreed to start Ikey with a 
scholarship, which, so long as he maintained a 
satisfactory standing, would pay his full tuition. 
He also promised him a position as waiter at the 


AN EXPERIMENT 323 

Academy dining-hall. It was thus definitely set¬ 
tled that Peter Wadsworth and Ikey Warren 
should start for Andover together in September 
and should occupy the same room in one of the 
dormitories. Colonel Conger, on one memorable 
day, took Ikey and Peter to Schuyler in his big 
Cadillac car and fitted Ikey out with a complete 
outfit of new clothes, as well as a trunk, a dress¬ 
ing-case, and other necessities. The boy was so 
bewildered that he was speechless, but his eyes 
shone with gratitude towards his benefactors. 
Colonel Conger said to Dr. Wadsworth that night, 
on his return, “ Look here, Doc, I just want to say 
one thing,—the greatest pleasure in life is giving, 
not getting! I’ve had more fun in making that 
Warren boy happy than I ever had in piling up a 
fortune. I should be heart-broken if he didn’t do 
well.” 

What Ikey felt on the subject may be deduced 
from his final remark to Peter as he left him, 
“ Peter, if I don’t make good at Andover, I’ll 
never dare look your father and Colonel Conger 
in the face again! I’m going to work like a dog 
to justify their confidence.” 

When Peter told this to Dr. Wadsworth, the 
latter was sure that his son was to be in good 
company on his first months away from home. 


CHAPTER XIV 


AN END AND A BEGINNING 

On a bright, crisp morning in mid-September 
the platform of the Deepwater railroad station,— 
or “ deepo,” as it was commonly called,—was 
rather more crowded than usual. The customary 
group of incorrigible loafers had assembled to 
meet the train going north to Schuyler, hoping 
for some excitement, something to break the 
monotony of their dull existence. But on this 
particular Monday there were, in addition, sev¬ 
eral boys of fourteen or fifteen years of age, who 
had gathered for some special purpose and who 
kept looking around for somebody to appear. 
Soon a Dodge sedan drove up, and there de¬ 
scended from the front seat a young fellow whom 
everybody hailed as “ Peter.” . . . “ Atta¬ 

boy, Peter! ”, “ Hi, Bo! ”, “ We’re with you, old 
top! ”,—these were some of the greetings which 
met his ears. He was evidently very popular in 
the village which he was leaving. 

As Peter Wadsworth took off his hat and 

324 


AN END AND A BEGINNING 325 

looked around, his coarse reddish hair, which had 
been neatly brushed only ten minutes before, 
stood out in all directions like a feather duster, 
and his amiable grin grew broader. Behind him, 
from the rear seat, stepped out a heavier, more 
awkward lad, with a homely but honest face, who 
was hailed as “ Ikey.” He was somewhat less at 
ease than Peter, and not quite so sure of what he 
ought to do; but he was equally well-liked, and 
was soon shaking hands with a dozen or more 
friends. 

The others to emerge from the sedan were Gige, 
now a tall, thin bean-pole of a boy, little Vera 
Wadsworth, a girl with light hair and promise of 
much beauty, and their parents. Mr. and Mrs. 
Warren had not cared to come to the station, but 
instead had given Ikey their good wishes at their 
home. They could not help feeling that, in al¬ 
lowing Ikey to go to school with Peter, they had 
said “ Good-bye! ” to him forever. 

Several large pieces of baggage were unloaded 
and placed on carriers to be ready for the train. 
When Dr. Wadsworth had purchased the tickets, 
he drew Peter away from the friends with whom 
he was conversing, and walked with him to a 
quieter spot near the freight office. Handing him 


326 PETER HAD COURAGE 

the tickets for himself and Ikey, he said, “ Now, 
my boy, I suppose you think you’re in for a fare¬ 
well sermon, like the ones fathers always give in 
boys’ stories,—but I’m not going to preach. I’m 
sorry that I can’t possibly leave my practice long 
enough at this time of year to see you safely set¬ 
tled, but I am counting on Ikey and you to man¬ 
age for yourselves,—you can do it all right. I 
really have only one warning,—don’t you ever 
be afraid of anything or anybody as long as you’re 
doing your best and playing the game! It’s fear, 
more than anything else, that ruins men! That’s 
what I find in my practice! Now you’ve had 
some adventures in your life already, even though 
it isn’t very long,—some pain, some failures, and 
plenty of mistakes,—and you’ll have plenty more; 
but always remember that it’s fear that turns 
men into liars and cheats and mean cusses gen¬ 
erally. You just keep your back straight and 
your head up and look people in the eye,—and 
you’ll succeed. And whatever trouble you get 
into, don’t you be afraid to tell me right off,—no 
matter what it may be! . . . And now Good¬ 

bye, and Good Luck! ” 

Peter shook his father’s hand warmly and 
turned away. Theirs was not a sentimental fam- 


AN END AND A BEGINNING 327 

ily> but there was a suspicious-looking moisture 
in his eyes, and he needed to bite his lip to keep 
from breaking out. A minute later the north¬ 
bound train whistled at Ridgefield Center. Peter 
rushed back to kiss his mother and Vera. The 
engine puffed slowly up to the platform, and 
Peter and Ikey climbed the steps to the car. 

“ Good-bye, everybody! ” he shouted, as he and 
Ikey waved their hands at their friends. 

As the train, rounding the curve at Union 
Street, turned east and vanished from sight, Dr. 
Wadsworth, taking his wife’s arm and leading her 
back to the Dodge, said, “ I wonder what he’ll be 
like four years from now, when he graduates from 
Andover? ”... And Mrs. Wadsworth could 
only say, “ I wish I knew! ” 










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